


Instead Of Getting Hit, Don't

by Graendal



Series: Shouto, Prince of the Underworld [1]
Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Hades (Video Game 2018), 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: All Might as Zeus, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, Alternate Universe - No Quirks (My Hero Academia), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Relationships, Blood, Blood and Violence, Cinnamon Roll Midoriya Izuku, Emotional Sex, Endeavor as Hades, Everyone is immortal, Godly powers are sort of quirks, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Inaccurate Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Kirishima Eijirou is a Good Friend, Lonely Todoroki Shouto, M/M, Midoriya Izuku is a Good Friend, Minor Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Minor Aoyama Yuuga/Iida Tenya, Minor Asui Tsuyu/Uraraka Ochako, Non-Explicit Sex, Oblivious Todoroki Shouto, POV Midoriya Izuku, POV Todoroki Shouto, Pining, Pining Midoriya Izuku, Pining Todoroki Shouto, Prince Todoroki Shouto, Prince of the underworld, Protective Todoroki Shouto, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Reunions, Sad Midoriya Izuku, Sarcastic Todoroki Shouto, Separations, Sleep, Temporary Character Death, Todoroki Enji | Endeavor's Bad Parenting, Todoroki Shouto Dies Repeatedly, Todoroki Shouto Needs a Hug, hades au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:53:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 38,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22147483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Graendal/pseuds/Graendal
Summary: Shouto drops to his knees on the hard, rocky ground, spitting blood. It sizzles and evaporates — it’s impossible for any moisture to stay liquid for long in Asphodel with the waves of heat emanating from the ever-present river of lava.He coughs again, and more blood spatters the ground. A collapsed lung, maybe. Whatever. He pushes to his feet and kicks at the giant hydra skull, the only thing that remains of the many-headed monster that has prevented him from achieving his goal all this time.Until now. That fucking hydra is finally dead, and he's closer than ever before to escaping this literal hellhole and getting out from under his father's thumb at last.And— and finding out what really happened to his mother.(Note: you don’t have to have played Hades to read this, there are just some details you’ll appreciate more if you have)
Relationships: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Todoroki Shouto, Midoriya Izuku & Todoroki Shouto, Midoriya Izuku/Todoroki Shouto, Todoroki Rei & Todoroki Shouto, Todoroki Shouto & Tokoyami Fumikage, Todoroki Shouto & Uraraka Ochako, Todoroki Shouto & Yaoyorozu Momo
Series: Shouto, Prince of the Underworld [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1807870
Comments: 223
Kudos: 482
Collections: BNHA fics that make me burst into tears, Best Fics From Across The Multiverse





	1. The Gates of Elysium

**Author's Note:**

> Update 9/21/2020
> 
> Now that Hades has been officially released and the real ending has been written, I feel the need to remind new readers that I wrote this entire fic from late 2019 to early 2020. From chapter 6 or so and onward, don’t expect any similarities to Hades canon.
> 
> ***
> 
> I have been playing Hades and can't stop thinking of the characters as BNHA characters.
> 
> For people familiar with the game, the first few chapters might look like it's just Hades with the names changed, but I promise it's going places the game hasn't.
> 
> "This'll probably be around ten chapters" - me, talking about my last fic, which finished at 36 chapters, 90k words
> 
> So, uh... this will probably be around ten chapters. Hahahahahaha

Shouto drops to his knees on the hard, rocky ground, spitting blood. It sizzles and evaporates — it’s impossible for any moisture to stay liquid for long in Asphodel with the waves of heat emanating from the ever-present river of lava. 

He coughs again, and more blood spatters the ground. A collapsed lung, maybe. Whatever. He pushes to his feet and kicks at the giant hydra skull, the only thing that remains of the many-headed monster that has prevented him from achieving his goal all this time. 

Until now. That fucking hydra is finally dead, and he's closer than ever before to escaping this literal hellhole and getting out from under his father's thumb at last.

And— and finding out what really happened to his mother.

He limps over to the floating platform that will carry him on to… Elysium? Or maybe that had been yet another lie.

He winces in pain as the platform comes to a halt with a lurch, and stumbles past the threshold. The lack of ash and embers in the air is an immediate improvement. Good riddance to the perpetual smell of sulfur, as well. It’s nice to be able to inhale without the air itself burning the insides of his nostrils and windpipe, even if at least one broken rib is poking farther into his collapsed lung with every careful, shallow breath he takes.

His father’s disembodied voice resounds through the chamber. “Shouto! You think you’ve accomplished something, do you?” 

Yes, yes he does.

“Killing my hydra was pointless, just as your pathetic escape attempts are pointless. Give up already, and come back to the House where you belong!”

He summons every ounce of sarcasm he can muster. “Alright, Endeavor. You’ve convinced me; Just give me a moment to catch my breath in Elysium and then I’ll get started crawling back through the rivers of lava and the prison maze full of horrors I just fought my way through.”

His father’s roar of frustration makes it worth the stab of pain that had accompanied every word he’d spoken.

If he’s honest… it doesn’t seem like he can go on much longer. He clenches his fists and grits his teeth. He’s in bad shape, but there’s still the fountain. Maybe… maybe it will be enough.

He gulps down as much water as he can stand to drink, and the relief is immediate. It flows through his body, the cool liquid spreading through his torso and limbs, patching up most of his obvious wounds.

He takes a deep breath — or tries to, anyway. Agony rips a scream from his throat and brings him back down to his knees. Whatever injury that had resulted from the hydra knocking him down and repeatedly smashing one of its heads into his chest — even the power of the fountain hadn’t been able to repair it.

Regardless — he has no choice but to go on.

He steps carefully through the gates of Elysium, and stares.

Flowers. Grass. Cool, soothing mist. Well-built cobblestone pathways that aren’t lined with spikes ready to pop out at any moment.

And— and— and—

An arrow through his heart.

His vision goes dark around the edges, but he catches a glimpse of shining, golden armor — a Champion of Elysium. A fallen hero. A hero who has just crushed his hope of escaping — this time, anyway.

And then — darkness.

* * *

“Ugh.” Shouto pulls himself out of the pool of blood, crawling up the last few steps into the House of Endeavor. He presses his hand over his heart as the phantom sensation of the arrow embedding itself in his chest jolts through him. Smooth, unbroken skin. He takes a deep, painless breath. He's whole again, but every death makes its mark on his psyche.

“Wow, you’re back!” Izuku greets him with a brilliant smile, as he always does. Shouto gives him a flat look. His perpetual cheeriness is grating, at times. Especially when he's just been killed. Which is every time.

Izuku is tasked with greeting every soul who enters the House of Endeavor. Doesn't seem like a responsibility particularly relevant to the God of Sleep, but he’s always seemed dedicated enough to the job. Shouto has seen a lot of him lately, ever since he started trying to escape.

“You made it all the way to Elysium this time!” Izuku says, his eyes taking on a starstruck gleam before he glances down at his records. “It looks like one of the famed Exalted Strongbows got you right in the chest! That’s rough. Did you know that the shades that occupy Elysium are the souls of the greatest champions the world has ever seen? They are wholly dedicated to testing their strength against each other in unending combat. No wonder they managed to take you down!”

“Is that so.” Shouto grits his teeth.

“You know,” Izuku taps his finger against his lips, completely oblivious to Shouto’s mounting frustration. He continues, “I bet if you could keep out of the way of their arrows, you might have a chance against the Strongbows.”

Shouto blinks slowly. “So, your advice to me is: instead of getting hit, don't.”

Izuku smiles sheepishly and rubs the back of his head. “Uh, yeah, basically!”

“Very helpful, thanks.” Shouto says, flatly.

He moves on, clenching his jaw as Izuku calls after him, “You're welcome, Shouto! Anytime!”

He's not looking forward to having to walk past the throne room. Yet another opportunity for his father to ridicule and admonish him for trying to escape his ‘responsibilities’. He wants no part of anything this House is involved in.

Instead of going straight to his room, he turns down another hallway in search of his mentor.

“Hey, kid,” Aizawa says, his toneless voice somehow still making to convey some degree of warmth. “Didn't go so well, I take it?”

“I made it farther than I've ever gone before. Killed the hydra, this time,” Shouto says, defeat creeping into his voice.

“Why so discouraged, then?” Aizawa raises an eyebrow at him.

“Because none of it mattered!” Shouto says, digging his nails into his palms. “I died within seconds of setting foot in Elysium.”

Aizawa heaves a sigh. “The shades of Elysium are no joke. But it wasn't long ago that you felt that you'd never be able to handle the enemies you encountered within Asphodel. It may take a thousand deaths, but you'll learn how to handle Elysium as well.”

“I know,” Shouto mutters. “But what's next? What will Endeavor put in my path to stop me from finding out what's beyond Elysium?”

“Only he knows what you'll have to face — and he's not sharing.” A ghost of a smirk briefly possesses Aizawa’s lips. “That would make your life a lot easier, though, wouldn't it?”

Shouto laughs in spite of himself. “Yeah, I'll just go ask him. Maybe he's in a charitable mood.” He turns to go.

“Hey.”

Shouto looks back and tilts his head.

“If you ever run into…” Aizawa trails off. “Ah, nevermind. Good luck out there. Remember your training.”

“Run into what?”

Aizawa waves dismissively. “Nothing. Another time, maybe.”

Shouto narrows his eyes. Odd.

He takes a deep breath and crosses in front of his father's throne, doing his best to block out the jibes shouted his way. He glances sideways at Inko, who looks away guiltily. He shouldn’t hold it against her, lying to him all this time about his mother. His father hadn’t given her much of a choice in it. When she meets his eyes again, he smiles — just barely, but enough that the relief in her eyes is obvious.

He passes through his room without further hesitation, to where his collection of weapons is stored. Maybe the sword, this time. 

He sets his eyes on the path towards Tartarus. Tartarus, to Asphodel, to Elysium, to whatever lies beyond.

He has to keep trying. Sword in hand, he takes a steadying breath.

Again.


	2. A New Adversary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you liked something! Comments are a great source of motivation. I have about eight chapters written so far, so there will be updates regardless, but the sooner I can finish the whole thing, the more frequently I can post new chapters.

“Shouto, my boy! Your continued efforts to escape the Underworld and take your rightful place here on Olympus have not gone unnoticed!” A deep, booming voice echoes through his mind.

Is that…?

“I am here! On Olympus! Ready to lend you my strength!”

_ All Might  _ has taken notice of his escape attempts? The king of the gods? That's… incredible. He's been helped by several other Olympians — among others, Hawks and Edgeshot had allowed him to borrow their powers — but this is the first time All Might himself has reached out to him.

Surely, with  _ his  _ power, Shouto will be able to take on even the most powerful enemies Elysium has to offer.

* * *

“Oh! You're back already!” There’s that damned smile again.

“Seems so.” Shouto stares straight ahead. He’d wasted his opportunity to benefit from All Might’s strength. It had been… hard to control, and he’d died before even reaching Asphodel. He’ll probably never get another chance like that again.

“Ouch! Got clobbered by a Wretched Thug in Tartarus, huh? That must have hurt!” Izuku winces sympathetically.

Shouto sighs. “Yep.”

“You know, they hit hard, but they’re slow, and not very smart — I’m surprised one of them took you out!”

What a fucking waste of time. Of course, Izuku’s records just tell him the final blow, the single last strike that had killed him. It doesn’t show him that Shouto had just faced down a  _ dozen  _ Thugs before five or six Witches had cornered him with a barrage of hellish magic, and that the act of dodging all of that had put him into the path of one last Thug delivering one last blow. 

Shouto counts in his head as he exhales slowly. It won’t do any good to yell at Izuku.

He tries to ignore Izuku’s continued rambling about Thugs and how if next time, Shouto can manage to kill them before they kill him, he won’t be dead. Great. Very insightful.

“Thanks, Izuku,” he says, mechanically.

Izuku replies with yet another cheery ‘You’re welcome!’ as Shouto heads farther into the House.

_ Again. _

* * *

“Momo, do we really have to do this again?” Shouto asks, letting the tip of his sword drop to the ground with a  _ clang _ . Fighting his childhood friend to the death over and over again is starting to wear his morale pretty fucking thin.

Despite the set of her jaw, there is a hint of sadness in her eyes. “You know we do, Shouto.”

She's right, unfortunately. His father will never let her get away with shirking her duties. And her duty, as of late, has been to stop him from escaping. She's always here, at the farthest reaches of Tartarus, waiting to kill him. Sometimes she succeeds.

Not this time.

His hands shake, covered with his friend's blood after he'd run her through with his sword. He'll never,  _ never  _ get used to this. The floor under her body had turned into a pool of blood and she had disappeared beneath the surface. It would be a disturbing image if it didn't signify her return to the House. She'll be back there by now, already. Totally fine. Not a scratch on her.

He tries hard to make her deaths as quick and painless as possible. He's not entirely sure if she's been extending him the same courtesy. Actually, she might be under orders to make it as  _ brutal _ as possible.

The liminal space between Tartarus and Asphodel has another healing fountain, but he barely needs it — the Olympians have given him a number of defensive abilities this time.

“Don't you dare take a single step into Asphodel! Let this ridiculous rebellion of yours come to an end, Shouto!” His father's voice thunders through the Underworld. 

He doesn't bother to respond.

* * *

The hydra kills him again. All the borrowed godly defense in the world can't help him if the hydra’s heads force him into the lava and trap him there.

“That lava will kill you quickly if you stay in it too long!” Izuku explains, oh so helpfully. “You're fire  _ resistant,  _ not fire _ proof.” _

“Right. How could I have forgotten? Silly me.” Shouto sighs. “Thanks, Izuku.”

“You're welcome!”

Does he not pick up on the sarcastic tone in his words at all? Or he just chooses every time to respond as if Shouto’s thanks is genuine?

Maybe he'll give the bow another try.

_ Again. _

* * *

Shouto stumbles upon Kirishima in Tartarus this time, which is always a welcome break from all the things trying to kill him. It's not possible to find his way to this chamber deliberately — Tartarus is always shifting itself around to make it harder for him to find his way out — but whenever he does, he can count on Kirishima to do whatever he can to make his life a little easier.

“How are you able to keep a positive attitude after all this time?” Shouto asks. 

He'd have thought that being sentenced to an eternity of pushing a boulder up a hill only for it to roll right back down again would drive a soul to madness, eventually. But Kirishima is here with a smile on his face every time. 

“Bouldy here helps keep my spirits up!” Kirishima explains, gesturing at the giant boulder he's chained to. Shouto notices the smiling face carved into the boulder. Has that always been there? He eyes Kirishima carefully. Madness, indeed.

Regardless, he has some supplies for Shouto, as usual — where does he even get them?? — and he sends him on his way with a prayer for good luck.

Luck doesn't have much to do with it, unfortunately.

He takes a breath before entering the chamber Momo is tasked with guarding. At least with a bow, he's less likely to end up covered in her blood. It's an unhelpful thought. He doesn't need to literally have her blood on his hands to suffer from the trauma of killing his best friend again.

And she's… not there? Who…?

“Hey, Half-Face!” his new adversary shouts.

“Who are you? Where is Momo?” Shouto trains his face into impassivity. He can't look like he's concerned for her, or his father will find another way to use her to discourage him.

“Guess your dear old dad got fed up with her incompetence after she let you through one too many times.” Crazed red eyes flare. “Called in someone who can actually get the job done.”

Fuck. Who knows what she's being put through now? He clenches his fist around his bow. He has to kill this new guy and make it look easy; hopefully that will take some of the heat off of Momo for failing to stop his escape attempts.

After a bit of a struggle, he manages to put an arrow through that head of pale, spiky hair. As abrasive and unpleasant as his new gatekeeper had been, he still breathes a sigh of relief when the pool of blood appears and swallows up the body. He has no taste for  _ actual  _ killing.

He dies anyway, in Asphodel, when the ground he’d been standing on had suddenly become a barge of death floating along the river of lava. Enemies had materialized out of nowhere on all sides of him. The power of the goddess, Midnight, which had allowed him to weaken his enemies’ attacks, had seemed like it would be enough, but then another wave of enemies had appeared. And another. And he’d succumbed.

Izuku smiles as brightly as ever. “You’re back! It’s good to see you, Shouto — I mean, sorry that you failed, but it’s good to see you anyway.”

“There’s no point in trying to be my friend, Izuku. I’m going to succeed eventually, and then you’ll never see me again.” Shouto eyes his father sitting on his throne at the far end of the hall. Should he speak with him on Momo’s behalf, or will that just make things worse for her?

Izuku shrugs. “You spend enough time surrounded by creatures that want you dead; I might as well show some kindness in the moments in between.”

Shouto blinks. “Ah,” he says. Kindness? Why bother? He couldn't let it show even if it did make a difference to him, or his father will realize that Izuku is too nice, and replace him. And then Shouto could be stuck with… ugh, Monoma, perhaps, greeting him every time he's resurrected from a brutal death.

No thanks. He'll keep Izuku — too-cheerful smiles, unhelpful rambling, and all.


	3. The Bull of Minos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

He finds Momo in the lounge, talking to Hagakure, who vanishes with a yelp the moment she notices him. Off to clean another room.

“You're causing a lot of trouble for everyone, Shouto.” Momo downs the rest of her drink.

“I hope he wasn't too hard on you,” Shouto says. Guilt creeps its fingers into the edges of his consciousness. “I'm sorry, but you know that I have to do this.”

Momo sighs and turns to face him. “I  _ don’t  _ know that. You don’t even know where she is. Or if she’s even alive.”

Shouto shakes his head. “If she had died, she would have shown up here at the House again. She’s not here, so she has to be out there somewhere, in the living world.”

“Shouto…” Momo starts, gently. “You didn’t even know she existed until you happened to eavesdrop on the wrong conversation. She must have left when you were a small child. How do you know she’ll want to see you at all?”

He looks toward the exit. He has nothing, if she doesn’t want him either. “She has to.”

He’ll try again.

* * *

Tokoyami catches up with him part of the way through Asphodel. There’s no mistaking the unnatural darkness and eerie chill that roll through any place the God of Death deigns to visit. It should be soothing, given the oppressive heat that makes every step Shouto takes through Asphodel nearly unbearable. But he shivers, instead, dread sinking its claws deep into his chest.

If Tokoyami has come after him at his father’s behest, this attempt will be short-lived. He’d thought he was safe from him, given that mortals are dying constantly and Tokoyami rarely has a spare moment. Maybe Hawks is picking up the slack for him; they do work together occasionally, as two of the very few entities that are allowed to come and go between the living world and the domain of Endeavor.

“Shouto.” Tokoyami’s voice is as deep and toneless as ever. “You’ve been moving fast. It took me a while to catch up to you. And you didn’t even say goodbye.”

Shouto sets his shoulders. “I’m sorry for how I left things, but don't you have better things to do than chase after me?” He sighs. “Whatever. Let's get this over with.”

Tokoyami scoffs. “I'm not here for that, Shouto.” He looks away.

“Then what—?”

“Let's see who can kill more of these Inferno-bombers, shall we?” Tokoyami cuts him off, slamming his scythe into the ground, creating a vortex of darkness — certain death for any foes foolish enough to wander into it.

He's here to  _ help? _

Tokoyami racks up kills unfathomably quickly. Shouto tries to keep up, at first, but can't help but occasionally stop and stare in wonder at the incredible display of ruthless efficiency.

When all the enemies are dead, there’s a hint of a smirk on Tokoyami’s face.

“That wasn’t even close, Shouto. You’d better brush up on your skills if we’re going to do this again.”

He almost misses it, in Tokoyami’s deadpan delivery.

“Again? You’re planning to help me on a regular basis? Why?” Shouto frowns slightly.

“Who says I’m helping you at all? I’m just testing my skills against yours.” He wraps the darkness around himself, preparing to leave.

“... Right.” Shouto nods, no less perplexed.

“Until next time.” 

Tokoyami vanishes, and Shouto staggers at the sudden return of the stifling heat in the air.

* * *

He encounters the Strongbows again as soon as he sets foot in Elysium.

_ Instead of getting hit, don't. _

He dodges out of the way of an almost certainly lethal barrage of arrows. Once he gets into close range of the enemy, he's able to prevent them from taking any more shots, and makes quick work of them.

He chuckles. He'll need to thank Izuku again for his oh-so-useful advice.

The next chamber is strangely quiet, aside from the unnerving muttering coming from just beyond the bridge ahead of him.

A man with long golden hair, dressed like a champion, is seated on a bench. His weapon lays unused beside him.

“You're not going to fight me?” Shouto asks, approaching cautiously.

The man shrugs. His reply is quiet. “Feel free to tell anyone you meet that we battled and you defeated me. It’s all the same to me.”

Shouto frowns. “I thought all the shades of Elysium are supposed to be obsessed with proving their superiority in combat.”

The stranger sighs. “Not this one.”

He looks miserable. Isn't Elysium supposed to be a paradise for its resident souls? All of the greatest warriors, honing their skills against each other for all time.

This one is an enigma.

“Well, thanks for not trying to kill me.” Shouto starts to move on, but stops, turning his face to look at the stranger out of the corner of his eye. Maybe someone at the House knows something about him. “What's your name, sir?”

The man doesn't look up when he answers, nearly in a whisper. “They used to call me Yamada Hizashi.”

* * *

He dies again, facing down Iida, the Bull of Minos. Some details must have been embellished over time, because he hadn't looked like a bull at all. He'd certainly been able to charge like one, though. Even with the power of the ocean imbued into his spear by Selkie, he'd barely been able to lay a single blow on Iida before finding himself crushed against a pillar.

Izuku gasps when he looks at the record. “You faced down the Bull of Minos himself, Iida Tenya?” he asks, incredulous. “Was Aoyama Yuuga there with him, too?”

Shouto frowns. “Why would be have been there? Aren't they enemies? Isn't Aoyama the one that sent Iida into the afterlife in the first place?”

“Oh! I'm glad you asked. You see, they were enemies in life, but in death…”

Oh, great. He should have known better than to ask Izuku about the history of a fallen hero.

The explanation is still ongoing, five minutes later. “And that's why Iida believes he owes a debt of gratitude to Aoyama, and is always there to fight at his side, when he's needed. It's very romantic, if you ask me.”

“Right.” Shouto exhales. He  _ hadn't  _ asked, but whatever.

He starts to move on, but Izuku catches his arm.

“Um, Shouto…”

Shouto sighs. “Yes?”

“Do you think, maybe, if you ever encounter Iida again, you could, you know, ask him for an autograph? For me? And then you can give it to me when you die again and end up back here.” 

Shouto stares at him. 

“N-N-Not that you'll die again, necessarily! But just in case!”

“No.” Shouto glares. It's just  _ great  _ knowing how little faith Izuku has in his chance of ever achieving his objective. An  _ autograph,  _ really? From the guy who just smashed him to death against a marble pillar.  _ Ugh. _

He tries not to visibly  _ stomp  _ his way over to Aizawa, and ignores his father's taunts over successfully foiling another of his escape attempts.

He'd considered asking Izuku if he knew anything about Yamada Hizashi, but definitely not after all that. Maybe Aizawa knows something. He'd been one of the greatest champions to ever exist in the living world, before he'd ended up in Father's service here in the House.

He's a little calmer by the time he reaches the wing of the House where Aizawa is posted.

“Hey, kid.” Aizawa’s greeting is the same as always. “You were gone a long time. Thought maybe that you'd made it out.”

“Unfortunately not.” Shouto grimaces.

Aizawa puts a hand on his shoulder, and Shouto blinks at him. “Just keep trying. You only have to succeed once.”

Shouto nods, looking down at his feet. It's hard not to get discouraged by losing over and over again, but Aizawa is right. If enough factors ever happen to align in his favor, that will be the end of it. As long as he maintains his resolve, there's always a chance that he'll succeed. Maybe Kirishima has had the right idea all along, with his prayers for luck.

But he's seen what a loss of resolve looks like, in Elysium. And that's what he'd come to ask about.

“Hey, have you, by any chance, heard of a shade called Yamada Hizashi? I found him in Elysium, and he was…” he trails off when Aizawa’s hand slips off his shoulder, and he looks up at him. His expression is stricken.

Aizawa swallows. “So you found him, then,” he says, slowly. “I wasn't sure if he was still out there somewhere.” He falls silent, and the look on his face… his mind is somewhere else entirely.

When he doesn't say anything further after a few moments, Shouto clears his throat. This is awkward. “Well, uh—”

“If you see him again,” Aizawa says, cutting him off, “can you tell him…” He looks away.

Shouto waits. What tragic tale has he wandered into?

Aizawa turns back to him, jaw set. “Tell him I still love him, and that I miss him always.” 

Shouto blinks. So they'd known each other in life. But why would they have been separated after death? Aizawa is known for his heroism even among the gods, and if Yamada is in Elysium, he must have been a great warrior as well.

“Sir, why—?”

Aizawa grips his shoulder again, cutting him off. “Please — leave it at that. No more questions.”

Shouto just nods. What can he possibly say to that? It’s not like Aizawa to open up about  _ anything _ that had happened during his life on the surface. Prying is unlikely to get him to say anything more.


	4. An Unfair Fight

The next time he wanders into Kirishima’s chamber, someone is yelling. He ducks behind a (non-Bouldy) boulder and carefully peers towards the source of the noise.

It’s the spiky-haired Momo stand-in, threatening additional lashings if Kirishima doesn’t get back to work pushing his boulder up the hill.

“I swear, Shitty Hair, if you don’t get your act together, there will be consequences.” Shouto frowns — what’s wrong with Kirishima’s hair?

He stalks off, and Shouto comes out from his hiding place.

“Are you alright?” Shouto frowns. “That looked like a less-than-pleasant exchange.”

“Oh, I’m fine.” Kirishima smiles. “Katsuki’s bark is much worse than his bite.”

“You’re not worried about his threats?” Shouto presses his lips together. “Are things… worse for you, as a result of helping me out?”

Kirishima laughs. “No, man, just the opposite. The busier you keep Momo and Katsuki, the less time they spend worrying about whether I’m pushing Bouldy up the hill like I’m supposed to.”

“Oh.” Well, at least there's one person benefiting from his actions.

“Katsuki’s not all that bad, anyway. He knows I can’t actually be hurt by whips — I’ve been here so long, my body has become more like the rock my soul has been linked to — and that’s still the only punishment he ever deals out.”

“He didn’t seem like the merciful type when I encountered him,” Shouto says, raising an eyebrow.

“Guess he has a soft spot for me, then.” Kirishima grins. “Anyway, how can I help you out this time?”

* * *

All Might contacts him again when he’s finished killing a group of Brightswords who had attacked him in Elysium.

“Young Shouto! How are you doing, my boy? I'm sorry my power didn't work out so well for you last time! How about we give it another try?”

He accepts All Might’s gift of strength and promises to do his best — what else can one say when it's the king of the gods offering to help?

He’s able to get a better handle on it this time, and he annihilates all the enemies that dare to face him.

Until he finds himself face to face with Iida again, and remembers Izuku’s stuttered request for an autograph. He hadn't been fair to him, in how he’d responded, and Izuku has been much less chatty with him ever since. He never thought there would be a day that he would start to miss that obnoxious smile, or want to hear those rambling analyses of the enemies who had managed to kill him, but here he is. 

Everyone else in the House has made it clear that they are angry with him for daring to step out of line. But Izuku has always made an effort — misguided, sometimes, but still — to cheer him up.

“Iida, before we try to kill each other—”

“Shouto, you know your arguments will not sway me from my duty to stop you. The only valid outcome here is for one of us to die.” Iida frowns severely. All business, all the time.

“Yes, yes.” Shouto rolls his eyes. “You can get to work trying to murder me in a minute. First — I have this colleague… friend, maybe… who is a big fan of yours. He wants me to bring him back something you've signed for him.”

“Haha!” His voice booms, painfully loud. “A fan of mine? Well, certainly.” Iida lowers his giant axe and pulls out a quill and inkpot —  _ where  _ had he been keeping those?

The only option is for him to sign Shouto’s clothing; it's the only thing that comes back to the House with him, upon death. Well, his weapon, too, but he's not about to give  _ that _ to Izuku.

“And I'll be sure to send you back home promptly so he can receive it as soon as possible.” Iida’s wide smile takes on a predatory glint, and Shouto has no other warning before he has to dodge a massive overhead strike from the axe.

He goes toe to toe with Iida — toe to toe with the fucking  _ Bull of Minos!  _ — until Iida calls an end to it.

“Enough! I yield.”

“What, so you can stop the fight when you want, but I can’t? Hardly seems fair.” Shouto wipes blood from the corner of his mouth. Hopefully from a split lip, rather than internal bleeding.

“I don't make the rules, I just adhere to them.” He shrugs — sympathetically? — and turns to leave. “You'll face me again soon enough, if you continue to fight as skillfully as you did just now.”

Face him again? Does he mean after dying and fighting all the way here all over again?

He finds out shortly — that isn't what he had meant.

Iida hadn't been the last obstacle to traveling beyond Elysium. Apparently, that would be Aoyama, the greatest of all Athenian kings, in all his resplendent glory, _along_ _with_ Iida at his side, fully healed.

He needs to keep in mind that he can't expect anything about this to be  _ fair. _

Aoyama is… something. He’s not sure what he had expected, but it certainly wasn’t this.

He twirls around, spinning his spear in an ostentatious display of… skill? “Fiend!” he shouts. “This is as far as you go, you monster!” 

_ Monster?  _ Where is  _ that  _ coming from?

Shouto frowns. Has his father been spreading lies about him to enlist heroes to stop him? “I’m not a monster, I just—”

“Silence!” Aoyama’s eyes glitter with murderous glee. “I look forward to the sound my spear will make as it slides into your exposed midsection!” 

That’s that, then. Time to fight.

It isn’t pretty. Their coordinated blows have him bouncing back and forth between the two of them, barely giving him time to react, and Iida quickly fulfills his promise to send him back to the House. Laughably quickly.

He drags himself out of the pool of blood, fuming. Aoyama  _ and  _ Iida, teaming up against him? Izuku  _ had _ warned him that they were likely to be found together.

Izuku. At least he got the fucking autograph for him.

He stalks up to him and strips down, throwing his autographed clothing at Izuku’s feet.

“Shouto! What…?”

He ignores Izuku’s bewildered expression and storms off to his chambers in search of spare clothing.

The delighted squeal that echoes through the House a short while later — doubtless, Izuku discovering his prize —  _ might  _ cause his lips to flicker into the barest hint of a smile.

* * *

Izuku is  _ wearing  _ his signed clothing the next time he sees him, after being run into the ground by a Nemean Chariot in Elysium.

“Welcome back, Shouto!” Izuku gestures at his new outfit. “I  _ really  _ appreciate what you did for me, even though it seemed like you were pretty angry with me just for asking…”

Shouto sighs. “I’m just angry at this whole situation. I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

Izuku blinks. “Oh, um! Well, thanks, I guess? I just wish I could do more to help!”

Shouto smiles faintly. “Do you have any advice about Nemean Chariots?” Might as well let him  _ feel  _ like he's helping.

Izuku’s whole face lights up. “Nemean Chariots can be deadly! They move fast, and if you're in their path of destruction you'll be dead again before you know it! They can't hurt you if you stay away from their front, so keep behind them and you'll be safe!”

“So… you're telling me I  _ shouldn't  _ stand still and let the chariots run me over?” Shouto keeps his face serious.

“Yes, that's right! You'll get the hang of it eventually!” Izuku grins brightly.

* * *

As it turns out, the chariots are useless at turning, and he can _ easily  _ reduce one to a pile of wreckage if he simply makes sure to attack from behind.

Unironically: thanks, Izuku.

Not a thought he had ever expected to have, but his expectations have repeatedly turned out to be  _ far  _ from accurate. Maybe it's time to dispense with them altogether, go from moment to moment entirely according to whim.

He finds Yamada Hizashi again, still sitting on his bench, still making no move to take up his arms.

He should pass along the message. He could also ask him about Aizawa and how they know each other. Presumably, they'd fought side by side in life, with Aizawa having been a renowned hero, and Yamada being dressed in the regalia of a champion.

“I have a message for you, sir,” Shouto says, observing the shade closely for any reaction. “It's from my mentor, Aizawa Shouta.”

The change is immediate. His slouched posture straightens, the haze in his eyes clears and he looks at Shouto with razor-sharp focus, and his voice… “Shouta is here, somewhere in the Underworld?” Projection makes all the difference. He has the voice of a commander.

“Yes, sir. He lives in the House of Endeavor, serving my father.” Shouto frowns. “What did you think had happened to him?”

“I wasn't sure,” Yamada says, pursing his lips. “At first, I thought he was still alive. Eventually, I figured he must be here in Elysium. But after centuries of searching, I gave up. I knew he couldn't have been sent to Tartarus or Asphodel, but I'd never considered he could have ended up serving Endeavor himself. But why would he not have been rewarded with Elysium? He was the greatest of us all…”

That's something Shouto had often wondered, himself. What had Aizawa done in life to result in his eternity of servitude after death? It made no sense. Regardless. The message.

He clears his throat, and Yamada refocuses his gaze on him once again. “He wanted me to tell you that… he loves you, and misses you always.”

Yamada swallows, and blinks away the tears that had appeared in his eyes. “Oh, Shouta, what have you done…” His voice has dropped back down to a whisper, and he sits back down on the bench, slumping in defeat.

And he's  _ not  _ supposed to ask further questions? After all that? Shouto grits his teeth. Aizawa has always been good to him, as his trainer and mentor. He shouldn't betray his trust by milking Yamada for information that Aizawa doesn't want him to have. No matter how intriguing the matter may be.

There's nothing to do but keep moving forward.


	5. Hypothetically

“The situation is precarious. I can't discuss it any further.” Aizawa’s lips are pressed together. This is dangerous territory.

“But he didn't even know you were here! Now that he knows, maybe—”

“Leave it, Shouto!” Aizawa’s eyes flare in anger.

Yeah, he should have just left it like he'd been told to the first time. He’d just wanted to help, if possible. Precarious, though? How so? Is this  _ yet another thing  _ his father has ruined?

“And do  _ not _ bring this up with your father!” Is he a mind-reader now, too? “It won't just be unhelpful. It could make things a lot worse for us both.”

What could be worse than spending an eternity separated from each other?

* * *

It bothers him — Aizawa and Yamada’s plight. The whole idea of it. Nags at his awareness even while he’s trying to fight his way out.

Distracted, he manages to get himself turned to stone by a Gorgon and smashed into pieces by a Skullcrusher. Great.

He crawls out of the pool of blood — he's lost track of how many times it's been, now — and freezes. Izuku isn't at his post.

_ Fuck.  _ Had his father noticed that he'd started to warm up to him? Has he decided to replace him?

Heart pounding, he dashes through the House. Down the hall, he can hear his father yelling about something.

“Izuku!” His father's voice is full of fury — when  _ isn't  _ it, really — and for once it's not directed at Shouto. “Care to explain why you haven't been fulfilling your duty of cataloguing the shades of the newly dead?”

Shouto slows to a halt at the edge of the throne room. His father hasn't noticed him yet.

The floor is sunken in front of the throne, by design. It's not enough to have the throne elevated; anyone put before his father must be made to feel like less than nothing, of course. Izuku is standing there now; he'd been out of view from the other end of the hall.

“Well, you see,” Izuku stammers, absently readjusting his clothing — the autographed clothes, still, Shouto notices with a wince. Now would be a good time for his father's self-absorption to result in him failing to notice minor details about one of his subjects.

Izuku swallows, continuing. “I, uh, temporarily misplaced the Ledger of the Dead. And when I found it, it wasn't where I’d left it. So someone must have moved it, right?” Receiving only a stony glare in response, Izuku’s eyes go wide. “It would be bad —  _ really  _ bad — if someone tampered with the Ledger, so I needed to check and make sure everything was still in order. And, well—” He gestures vaguely, and mutters something not entirely coherent about the number of souls in the Underworld.

This is not going to go well for Izuku. Unless his father were to be distracted by something even more aggravating.

“Endeavor!” Shouto calls, before he can talk himself out of it. “You’re getting lazy in your efforts to keep me contained here. This time I only died because I was half-asleep from boredom.”

His father's flames flare to life in response to his taunts. Good. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of Izuku staring at him before shaking himself into motion and escaping down the corridor.

“If it's too  _ easy  _ for you,” his father seethes, “I'll just have to find a way to make things more  _ interesting.” _

Shouto bares his teeth. He's managed to refocus his father's irritation away from Izuku — but at what cost?

* * *

“Shouto.” His whispered name catches his attention and he turns.

“Inko. What are you doing here?” He'd been just about to leave for another escape attempt.

“Thank you for what you did for Izuku back there,” she says, quietly.

Shouto shrugs, uncomfortable. “I would rather he keep his post. There are much worse alternatives to him that Endeavor could choose.”

“I want to help more with what you're trying to do.” She looks around, biting her lip. Nervous. She's taking a risk, talking to him like this.

Shouto lifts an eyebrow. “What are you suggesting?”

She pulls off her shawl and wraps it around his shoulders. “This will help keep you safe.”

How annoyingly vague. It must run in the family. The corners of his mouth twitch.

“Won't my father notice it? I don't want you punished because you helped me.” Shouto puts a hand on her arm.

Inko shakes her head, patting his hand. “It's okay, Shouto. I've shrouded it from his notice.”

Shouto nods. Impressive. One of the perks of being the Goddess of the Night, most likely. “Thank you, Inko.” He pulls it closer around himself. “I will wear it with pride.”

* * *

He's gotten used to finding Katsuki in Momo’s place at the edge of Tartarus about half the time. His father is fickle, and it doesn't take many defeats at Shouto’s hand to shift his favor from one of them to the other.

Both of them are there, this time.

Good. He needs practice fighting against two strong opponents simultaneously if he ever wants to prevail against Iida and Aoyama’s combined might.

He narrows his eyes and grips his sword more tightly. Momo doesn't look pleased at having to work with Katsuki, rolling her eyes and sighing at his brutish bravado. He can use that to his advantage.

The fight is vicious, despite the fact that Momo and Katsuki repeatedly fail to coordinate their attacks. It's easy to rile Katsuki up and get him charging in while Momo is still carefully contemplating her next angle of approach.

While this is Shouto’s first time facing them together, he's defeated them individually dozens — perhaps hundreds — of times. He knows their individual fighting styles like the back of his hand, and since they aren't cooperating, fighting both of them is just like fighting two separate battles.

The Gorgon and the Skullcrusher had made a better team than this.

Still, they  _ are  _ two formidable opponents, and he comes out on the other side of it in rougher shape than usual. He's unlikely to make it to the end, this time. He squares his shoulders. Even if he can't win, he can still learn, can work towards knowing the ins and outs of  _ all  _ of the enemies he faces.

He may need luck to succeed, ultimately, but he'll need  _ less  _ of it if he hones his skills to as close to perfection as possible.

* * *

Aoyama should have listened to Iida. Shouto hisses in pain as he gingerly attempts to put weight on his ankle. Sprained, at least. But he'd  _ won.  _ Defeated the King and the Bull. Iida had warned Aoyama not to take victory for granted, having faced near-defeat at Shouto’s hands several times now.

And now they are both dead. For a while, anyway. Shouto is not much better off. Recovery Girl had gifted him with one chance to cheat death, and he'd used it up during the battle. Maybe Inko’s gift had provided some nebulous benefit, as well, but there's no way to know if it will continue to work.

Is this it? What's beyond the next door? The surface? Has he made it out, at last? There had been no fanfare, no clear sign of ultimate victory. But there wouldn't have been, either way.

He limps across the threshold.

The air is the first thing he notices. It's different, somehow. It moves as if with a will of its own. Not still and stagnant like the air of the Underworld. It’s… strange — not entirely pleasant.

The ground is covered in cold, white powder. He shivers. It’s quiet, other than the repetitive sound of ocean waves crashing against the rocks up ahead.

A familiar figure looms, looking out at the sea, and Shouto sighs, resigned.

“Endeavor,” he says. And more quietly, “Father.”

“Shouto.” For once, not angry. Resigned. “How do you like the surface? It's not to my taste, personally. The air, the snow, the living souls.” He kicks at the… snow… on the ground — for emphasis, probably.

Shouto juts out his jaw. “I find the air refreshing.” Not entirely true, but he's not about to admit agreement with his father over anything.

“Even I have to admit that your skills deserve respect, if you've made it this far.” A slight nod. As much acknowledgment as he's ever received. “You’re stronger than I expected.”

“I don't suppose you're here for a tearful goodbye.” Shouto edges forward, blade at the ready. He may not have much left to give, but he's not going down without a fight.

His father shakes his head, almost sadly.

“You've forced my hand.” He turns around, heavy cloak swishing in the snow. “Your place is in the House. And now I'm here to take you back there myself.”

He throws his cloak off with a flourish, and it goes up in flames before it can hit the ground. Shouto snorts. So needlessly dramatic.

“Are you going to do the cloak thing every time? I hope you have a few extras. Because I may be half-dead and about to lose to you this time, but I'm never going to give up.”

His father charges toward him with a roar.

* * *

Shouto climbs out of the pool of blood and just stands there, trying to get his breathing under control. 

He and his father have always had their differences — sometimes to the point of violence — but they've never escalated to actually killing each other. Until now. Having a spear put through his gut is not a new experience, but having his father's eyes burning into his while it happens… He shudders.

Someone takes him by the arms. He blinks — he'd been staring at his feet, apparently — and looks up.

Izuku. Without his characteristic smile. His eyes are worried.

“Shouto, what happened? My records…” He frowns. “They show that you died, but the listed cause is just… blank? Or, I can't focus my eyes on it, or something.”

Shouto laughs weakly. “Then how will you advise me on how to win next time I face him?”

“Him…?” Izuku’s eyes go wide, his hands dropping to his sides. “So that’s where he went.”

Shouto leans against the wall and slides down until he’s sitting on the floor.

Izuku crouches down and maneuvers himself to sit beside him. Shouto lets his head drop to Izuku’s shoulder. He wouldn't dare, normally, but his father's not back yet, anyway, to notice that Izuku has become something like a friend.

He's never really had a friend other than Momo before. And lately all they do is try to kill each other, so maybe she doesn't count anymore, either. There's Tokoyami, maybe, but he's so busy with his duties that it's been ages since they've seen each other for more than a few minutes at a time. And those minutes are spent battling the forces of the Underworld, not developing a friendly bond.

Maybe only the mortals can care so deeply about each other. Is it a good thing, though? Aizawa and Yamada had loved — still love — each other, and now they have to suffer the pain of eternal separation. It's saddening.

“Izuku, do you think gods can experience love in the same way that mortals do?” Shouto asks, quietly, pulling his knees closer to his chest.

Izuku stiffens against him. “Oh, um. I don't— I'm not sure about the  _ same  _ way, but I think gods are capable of love, yes.”

Shouto sighs. “Would you suffer if you had to be separated forever from the one you love?”

“The— the one I love?” Izuku asks, voice shaky.

Ah, maybe that's too personal a question. He's never noticed Izuku with anyone who seemed like they could be a lover of his. But maybe they're not close enough friends for that kind of discussion.

“Hypothetically, I mean,” Shouto explains.

“Hypothetically.” Izuku repeats, quietly. 

“Yes. Hypothetically, if you loved someone, and you could never see them again, would you be sad?”

“Yeah,” Izuku murmurs. “Yeah, it’ll break my heart.  _ Would. _ It would break my heart. Hypothetically.”


	6. A Good Night's Rest

Being killed by his father never gets easier. He comes back shaken to the core every time. The only bright side is that he inevitably arrives back at the House before his father, so he can openly accept comfort from Izuku.

Once, victory had seemed to be within his grasp. He'd fought with everything— _everything_ he had; he'd been blessed with the power of All Might, Selkie, _and_ Recovery Girl, and he had managed to drive his father to his knees. It had seemed like— he had seemed to be on the brink of death.

But then his father had stood back up. More powerful than ever. Attacked Shouto with renewed vigor. Until Shouto had nothing left.

He’d floated there in the pool, tears streaming down the sides of his face and mingling with the blood, until Izuku had waded in and pulled him out.

“Maybe he can’t be beaten,” he’d whispered into Izuku’s shoulder.

Since then, demoralizing thoughts have swirled in his mind incessantly. _Relentlessly._

Maybe his goal is simply impossible. But his mother had escaped, somehow — maybe his father hadn’t been able to bring himself to kill _her._

Maybe he had… _loved_ her.

But she’d still left. Left Shouto, too, before he had even been old enough to remember her. Maybe Momo had it right — maybe his mother hadn’t… wouldn’t love him, even if he did manage to find her.

Maybe she doesn’t want to be found.

And when the Olympians find out that his reason for escaping isn’t really just to join their ranks, maybe they won't want him, either.

“You know, I have a lot of experience talking to people who have just died,” Izuku says, carefully, after Shouto’s most recent resurrection.

“Uh-huh,” Shouto says, raising an eyebrow.

“And I can't imagine it's good for someone to die over and over again like you've been doing.” Izuku twists his mouth, brows drawn together in sympathy.

Shouto sighs. “Are you telling me to give up?”

Izuku shrugs. “I know better than to try that. But you could take a break, at least? Get yourself, I don't know, more centered, or something.” He puts a tentative hand on Shouto’s knee. “Seems like your nerves have been a little bit frayed, lately.”

Shouto rolls his eyes. “Oh yeah, know any good spots to relax around here? Maybe a spa?”

Izuku sighs. “You could try _sleeping,_ for once. How long has it been?”

Of _course_ Izuku would suggest sleeping.

Shouto busies himself picking at the skin around his fingernails. “I'm not sure. I don't remember. It's not like I need to, anyway.”

Izuku nudges him under the chin, capturing his gaze. “Have you slept _at all_ since you learned of your mother's existence?”

“Does losing consciousness due to death count?” Shouto blinks slowly. His eyelids are just so heavy. Everything seems so distant, suddenly. He yawns. Izuku’s eyes are so _green._

“No,” Izuku murmurs, at the edge of Shouto’s awareness. “That doesn't count.”

* * *

Shouto inhales sharply, opening his eyes to darkness. He's tangled up in something. Had he died again? No — he's not immersed in blood. He's… comfortable? He's in his bed. He's tangled in his blankets.

“Please don't kill me, Shouto,” Izuku says, in the darkness. “I mean, I know I would just come back, but still, I'd rather not go through all that.”

Shouto sits up and squints, pushing his blankets down to his waist and willing his eyes to adjust. “Izuku?” Sleep has made his voice raspy. “Why would I want to kill you?”

“You were just so _tired._ You really needed to sleep.” Izuku takes on a vague shape in the dark room, and Shouto reaches out in his direction.

“You used your powers on me?” Shouto makes contact, and Izuku grasps his hand gently, squeezing a confirmation.

Something about having Izuku here with him in the dark is making his heart race. He tamps down the impulse to tug on Izuku’s hand, pull him closer, lie back down with him. He shakes his head to clear the fog — he must still be disoriented from sleep.

“Shouto…” Izuku starts, after a few moments. “If— if you decided to stay, maybe…” He trails off, falling silent again.

Maybe what? Shouto blinks. Izuku sighs heavily.

“I'll bet you can beat him now, after a good night’s rest,” Izuku says, too cheerily, and apparently abandoning his previous thought. Something's off.

“Good night's rest… It's _always_ night, here. How long was I out, really?” Shouto frowns. “Is Endeavor back? What if he finds out you're in my room? It's not safe for you here, Izuku.”

“I have a— a good feeling about the next time you try,” Izuku says, voice wavering. He— sniffles? “Remember: instead of getting hit, don't.”

He releases Shouto’s hand. “Goodbye, Shouto.”

“Wait, Izuku—” Shouto stops. The room is empty, now. The vague shape of Izuku is gone. His sudden absence is painful, hollow.

He's nowhere to be found in the House, either.

* * *

Instead of getting hit, don't.

_Instead of getting hit, don't._

**_Instead of getting hit, don't._ **

He makes it all the way to his father again. He borrows the powers of the gods. He brings him to his knees, again.

His father stands up. Shouto could _scream_ in frustration. Instead, he doesn't. He takes a breath, refocuses.

And then next time he brings him down, he doesn't get back up.

“If you… leave,” his father wheezes, “you can… _never…_ return.” Coughing wracks his father's hulking body, wet with the blood in his lungs.

Shouto strikes the final blow with all the fury of a thousand deaths.

He won. He _won!_ He actually did it; took down the Lord of the Underworld!

All it had taken was a little bit of sleep. He can't wait to tell Izuku that he'd… been… right. 

_Oh._ Right.

His chest hurts.

His mother. He'll find his mother. He _has_ to. That's why he did all this in the first place.

* * *

The living world is so _big._ The land sprawls out — rivers, plains, mountains, ocean — with no end in sight. And it's so _bright —_ it's hard to keep his eyes open against the relentless assault of the sun. How can the Olympians stand it? How can the _mortals_ stand it?

He doesn't… he doesn't have any idea where to start searching for his mother.

A mountain, looming huge even in the distance, catches his eye — Olympus. It _must_ be. All Might and all the other gods had said he would be welcome there, but if he tells them his true purpose, will they be willing to help? Would it turn them against him entirely? They are already inherently suspicious of the ‘denizens’ of the Underworld; they may not take it well if they interpret his lie by omission to be equivalent to active deception.

But with no clear goal in mind, wandering the land is unlikely to be fruitful. The mountain, with its overwhelming domination of his field of view, makes an appealing target. He'll have to take his chances with the Olympians.

He just needs to wait until he's healed enough to make the journey — he hadn't made it out of the fight with his father unscathed. Far from it.

In the meantime, he finds a suitable little cave — dark enough to feel like home, and lights a fire. His flames aren't as powerful as his father's, but they'll do for something as simple as this. The flickering of the firelight against the walls is much more comfortable on the eyes than the flaming monstrosity in the sky. 

He leans his sword against the wall of the cave and huddles close to the fire, shivering. He hadn't exactly been able to bring along an abundance of supplies. There's _weather_ on the surface, and it's _cold._ Really, really cold. He's lost a lot of blood.

Can he die of starvation? Hypothermia? Infection? What would happen if he did _?_

His father had said he could never return — had he meant that literally, as in his dying will no longer result in returning to the House? Or is he just no longer welcome there? Would he end up in Erebus, awaiting judgement like a mortal soul?

 _Is_ he mortal now? No — his father couldn't change the fundamental nature of his being, no matter how much he might want to… could he?

If he dies… will Tokoyami come for him? Or would he just… cease to exist? He shudders.

He should try to get some sleep. He lays down on the cold, rocky floor of the cave, and closes his eyes, wrapping Inko’s shawl around himself.

The ache in his chest returns. Sleep finds him immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had other thoughts for character parallels in the Underworld, but they either weren't compatible with existing stuff or they threw off the pacing. 
> 
> Jirou/Momo could make a good Orpheus/Eurydice, but Momo already has a role in this version.
> 
> This whole thing could be rewritten with Shinsou as deadpan, sassy Hypnos instead of Izuku as earnest Hypnos.
> 
> I thought about including a third fury sister (Mina?) but it seemed like it would drag things out for not much benefit.
> 
> And there are some characters I have written in but we just haven’t gotten to yet.
> 
> I’d love to hear everyone else’s ideas!


	7. The Face of the Mountain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have an awful cold, so updates might slow down a bit until I can concentrate on writing the rest of the story. I have more chapters written already but I don't want to blow through all that buffer and then leave readers waiting.

The cave is spinning. No — his  _ head _ is spinning. The ground is solid and unmoving beneath him, to the touch. But his equilibrium is  _ off.  _

He sits up carefully and takes stock of himself. Dizzy. Hungry. Shivering. On top of it all, his injuries are not visibly better than they'd been before he’d slept.

The mottled bruising on his torso from the numerous times he'd thrown himself out of the way of a brutal attack and landed hard on the ground is a dark purple, stark against his pale skin. He wouldn't be surprised if several ribs are broken, with how much it hurts to breathe. The side of his face is covered in dried blood from a — thankfully, shallow — gash on the side of his head. The deeper, more concerning wound in his side is still slowly oozing blood. Not good. Not good at all.

He pulls the shawl as tight as he can stand around his ribs and ties it in place. It has to serve the dual purpose of stabilizing his ribs and stemming the flow of blood.

New plan. Get to Olympus as soon as possible. He might not make it there at all, otherwise.

* * *

The climb up the mountain starts out deceptively easy. The base of the mountain is forested, but not too densely. Finding a path through the trees is not too hard, even with the complications of his injuries.

The trees become more and more sparse the higher he goes, but the path becomes steeper, as well. He straps his sword to his back, leaving both hands free. Nothing has attacked him so far — a wholly unfamiliar sort of journey. Eventually, there are sections he needs to scramble up, but finding handholds is not too difficult. Thankfully, the layer of snow is thin enough that it hasn't stuck to the steeper sections of his route.

He has to stop frequently; his injured ribs prevent him from breathing deeply, and shallow breaths don't provide enough oxygen for this degree of exertion.

Once the trees are few and far between, they provide very little shelter from the elements. The snow on the ground is deeper, and the sun reflects off of it, bright and uncomfortable in his eyes. He shivers. Maybe it's just the cold, but the chills running through his body seem like they might be indicative of something worse.

He loosens the shawl and winces, forcing himself to look. He sucks air through his teeth sharply at the sight.

It’s not bleeding anymore, at least, but the wound in his side is red and angry — does that mean it's infected? He had become accustomed to dying frequently; he hadn’t been surviving long enough to risk something like this happening. Maybe the environment of the Underworld isn't conducive to this sort of thing to begin with. He only knows of infection as a concept because of how often mortals die at its hands.

He ties the shawl back in place and carries on. What else is there to do but try to keep going?

He scrambles up another steep section and comes face to face with a sheer rock face. How had he not noticed this as he'd approached? There's no way he can climb something like that. He'll have to start angling his way up the mountain, which will significantly slow his progress.

But it's getting dark, and the wind is starting to howl. He needs to find better shelter, and fast. He scrambles along the side of the mountain, angling his path as steeply as he dares. There has to be a niche in the rock  _ somewhere. _

Desperation grows in his gut as time slips away from him. The mountain is growing darker and colder by the minute. And he's not even close to reaching the peak; he's barely  _ started. _

“All Might!” he calls. It can't hurt to try — other than how it literally hurts to shout. “Recovery Girl! Midnight! I need— please, I can't make it on my own!”

Nothing. No one.

“Mother!” His hoarse cry sounds panicked. Embarrassing.

And that's ridiculous, anyway. How would she know  _ she  _ was the mother being called, even if she could hear him? It's not like she would recognize his voice.

He finds the slightest of indentations in the rock. Will it be enough? There's no guarantee of a better spot if he keeps going, and the terrain is getting increasingly treacherous to traverse in the dark of night. And the night had fallen so  _ quickly. _

He'd thought he had somewhat of an ally in Inko. But… he can't really have expected her to delay the night itself for his sake. She might not even know yet that he's on the surface. But if his father had come out of the pool of blood, everyone would know.

…Izuku would know.

Hot tears on his cheeks. He’s going to die here. It was all for nothing.

He slides down to the ground and shelters in his pathetic excuse for a nook, pulling his knees to his chest.

His eyes slide closed, and Shouto slips into sleep’s soft embrace.

* * *

He dreams of shouted voices and bright light.

“He’s here!”

“Quickly!”

Being wrapped up in massive arms and lifted, carried.  _ Father? _

* * *

Voices again — whispered, this time.

“Will he be okay?”

“You got him here in time. Barely.”

Sweet liquid at his lips, down his throat. He swallows automatically.

“When will he wake up?”

Wake up? That sounds  _ terrible.  _ Sleep is safe, familiar.

Beautiful darkness enfolds him within its arms again.

* * *

He blinks awake, slowly. Where…?

Several things make themselves known to him simultaneously and fight for priority:

He’s not dead. He’s not on the mountainside. And he’s not alone.

He finds smooth, unmarred skin where the wound in his side had been. He's in a comfortable bed within a clean, well-furnished room. And there's a green-haired woman dozing in a chair a few feet away.

She’s unlikely to be a threat, considering that she could have killed him at any point before now, while he slept.

He sits up and clears his throat.

The woman startles out of her nap and stares at him.

“You woke up,” she says. Matter-of-fact.

“Apparently.” Shouto leans to the side, trying to get line of sight through the doorway. “Where am I?”  _ How long was I asleep? Who are you? How did I get here? _

There's no point to barraging her with questions; she can only answer one at a time, anyway.

“We found you about a week ago and brought you here, to the summit of Mount Olympus.” She smiles warmly. “You're Shouto, right? You can call me Tsu.”

He nods. “I suppose I have you to thank for my survival, then.”

“Me and Ochako, yeah. And a few others. It was a team effort, really.” Just like his escape had been, then. Tsu continues, “She and I discovered you while patrolling the mountain, and we summoned All Might for help. He carried you here, and Recovery Girl tended to your injuries.”

It's foggy, but he vaguely recalls dreaming that his  _ father  _ had been there. He cringes. Is he that desperate to believe that his father could actually care about what happens to him?

“We were getting really worried about you, Shouto.” Tsu tilts her head. “Recovery Girl fixed up everything that was wrong with you physically, but you still wouldn't wake up.”

“I must have needed the sleep,” Shouto murmurs.

“Do you want anything?” Tsu gestures at the doorway. “All Might will want to see you now that you're awake, but I can bring food and water, too, if you like.”

His stomach growls loudly. Tsu smiles. “Guess that answers that.”

“Uh, yes. Please.” Shouto swallows. All Might, coming to see him. “Thank you, Tsu.”

“You're welcome, Shouto.”

She leaves, and he's alone again.

Murmured voices drift through the doorway. Tsu and another person — not All Might or any of the other Olympians who had given him their power to help him escape, at least based on his lack of familiarity of the voice.

Another woman pokes her head in the doorway, smiling brightly. His heart squeezes painfully, reminded of another cheerful smile.

“So glad to see you're awake, Shouto!” She steps into the room. “I'm Ochako. It's really nice to meet you!”

“Hi, Ochako.” He blinks. “I hadn't realized there were so many gods on Olympus. I only interacted with a few on my way out.”

She waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, Tsu and I are just minor goddesses, not important enough to waste your time with our powers.”

“Oh?” He tilts his head.

“Tsu is the goddess of small bodies of water — ponds, streams, and such — and the creatures who live in them. Frogs, turtles, stuff like that.”

Shouto just nods. Any power could have been useful in one way or another, but it hadn't been up to him to discern.

“And I'm the goddess of gravity,” Ochako adds.

_ “Gravity?”  _ He raises his eyebrows.

“You know, ‘what goes up must come down’ — that's me.” She smiles and rubs the back of her head.

“I know what it  _ is,  _ that just seems like a pretty important thing to be responsible for. And you say you're a  _ minor  _ deity?”

She shrugs. “Guess so. Maybe because the mortals don’t really understand the concept yet, so they don’t worship me.”

Huh. Is that how it works?

Further speculation is cut off when an  _ enormous  _ man enters the room. He’s  _ huge.  _ He has to duck to come through the doorway, which isn’t small to begin with. His shoulders barely fit, width-wise. He’s smiling broadly, teeth gleaming, and his shining golden hair looks imbued with the power of the sun itself.

There’s no question of his identity.

“All Might,” Shouto breathes.


	8. A Promising Lead

“Shouto! I’m glad to see you’re awake!” All Might’s voice booms. Much louder in person than over a nebulous psychic connection.

Shout winces.

All Might’s smile stays fixed in place but the rest of his face changes, apologetic. “Sorry, my boy,” he continues, more subdued. “You've been through an ordeal. I'll tone it down.”

Shouto’s not sure he could handle that kind of volume even on a good day, but alright.

“I'm told you saved me, on the mountain,” Shouto says, looking at his hands resting on the blankets in his lap.

All Might shakes his head. “I came when called, but it's these two who deserve all the credit. And Recovery Girl, of course.”

Tsu had come back into the room and he hadn't even noticed her — All Might's presence is overwhelming.

He looks back and forth between Tsu and Ochako. “Then, thank you. I don't know how I can ever repay you.”

“There's no need for that,” Ochako says, waving her hands in front of her. “Anyone would have done the same.”

“Not  _ anyone,”  _ Shouto mutters.

“Anyone here on Olympus,” All Might adds, gaze growing steely for a moment before returning to warm kindness. “You don't have to worry about anything like that anymore. You're home now, where you belong.” He sits on the bed, and the whole mattress bends to accommodate his mass.

Guilt gnaws at him. He had never told them his real reason for wanting to leave the Underworld. Now is the moment of truth.

“Actually,” he starts, quietly. He swallows, looking up at All Might and meeting his gaze. “I didn't just— Coming to Olympus wasn't the only— There's something else I need to do here in the living world.” Ugh. So articulate. Pure eloquence. He should be an orator.

He flicks his eyes away from All Might. He can't stand to watch that warmth bleed away. Finally, somewhere he could be welcome, could live as something other than an abused pawn, and he's fucking it up within minutes of meeting these people. He clenches the blankets in his fists.

“What do you need to do? How can we help?”

…What?

He looks around, at All Might, Ochako, Tsu. All Might had spoken, but they  _ all _ look back at him with soft concern and hard determination on their faces. A strange juxtaposition.

“You're not angry that I didn't tell you before?” His grip relaxes. “You want to  _ help?  _ You don't even know what it is, yet.”

Tsu takes one of his hands. Ochako puts a hand on his shoulder. All Might pats his knee.

“My boy, you had other priorities besides explaining yourself at length in the limited time we had available to speak.” All Might's eyes glint again. “You are a god, and you were being kept prisoner against your will for no good reason. That's why we helped you.”

Shouto’s eyes burn. He blinks rapidly, but the tears come anyway.

“I would have come down there myself and gotten you out, but there are aspects of the agreement between Endeavor and me that  _ cannot  _ be broken.”

Come  _ down…  _ fighting all the way in and all the way out again? Possible for All Might himself, perhaps, but for anyone else… that would be a monumental task.

He takes a steadying breath and looks to the three of them again. 

“I need to find my mother.”

* * *

All Might and the rest of the Olympians make efficient use of the limited information he’d been able to give them. Her name is Rei, and he knows basically nothing else.

Still, it’s enough. It’s common knowledge — to everyone except him, apparently — that Rei is the Goddess of Seasons, and that she had disappeared under mysterious circumstances a long time ago.

No one had known that she’d gone to the Underworld, or that she’d had a child with Endeavor. No one had known she’d returned to the surface, either.

Usually, if one of the gods disappears, it’s by choice. The seasons had kept on turning, so no one had tried very hard to look for her.

Until now.

Tsu is the one to find the essential piece of the puzzle. 

She circles a small area on the map. “My creatures tell me there is a region that they have been unable to inhabit — it’s been in perpetual winter for as long as they or their ancestors can remember.”

Shouto stares. He would never have been able to discover that on his own, not anytime soon, at least. Since it  _ is  _ winter right now, an area like that wouldn't have stood out as different in any way.

All Might nods. “A promising lead! If something is wrong with the turning of the seasons, Rei might have something to do with it.”

Ochako leans forward, examining the map closely with narrowed eyes. “I know that area, or something in it, at least,” she says. “The Sanctuary of Thirteen, the Personification of Relativity.”

“Personification of what?” Shouto asks. Tokoyami and Izuku are technically the Personifications of Death and Sleep, respectively — that much is a familiar concept — but…  _ Relativity? _

She shakes her head, laughing. “That would take way too long to explain.”

“Okay, well, can we go there and investigate?”

She frowns. “I think I remember some sort of warning against trespassing in that temple, but it was so long ago that I don't remember the details.”

“We have to at least  _ try.  _ Please,” he says. His mother might really be there. Why else would the seasons in that one place behave differently than elsewhere else? In a matter of days, his search has gone from seemingly impossible to tantalizingly close to complete.

“Ochako and Shouto, the two of you should go,” All Might says. “Your familiarity with Thirteen could prove useful, Ochako.”

She nods, turning to Shouto. “We'll head out tomorrow morning.”

He nods mutely. This could really be it. He could actually find her. All because of the willingness of others to drop everything and help him. And to have someone coming along  _ with  _ him — it's more than he ever could have hoped for.


	9. The Gravity of the Situation

They’re making good time, and could probably reach their destination if they traveled through the night, but when darkness falls, Shouto hesitates and slows to a halt.

“Can we stop for the night?” There’s a slight quaver in his voice, and he cringes.

Ochako stops just ahead and turns to face him. “Really? I mean, we have the supplies to make camp, but I would’ve thought you’d want to power through, get there as soon as possible.”

He chews his lip. “It’s just… I don’t know what will happen if we find her there. What if she doesn’t want to see me?”

She stares for a moment. “That’s— Yeah, okay,” she nods and drops her stuff on the ground. “We’ll stop for the night. You clearly need a fireside heart-to-heart.”

They set up camp, and settle down in side by side sleeping rolls. Shouto stares up into the sky; the clouds of the past few days have cleared, and the stars shine brightly. The night sky is breathtaking — more beautiful than he’d ever imagined. And Inko is such an unassuming goddess, somehow; most others would never stop boasting about an association with something so exquisite.

Ochako clears her throat. “So…”

Ugh. When had he become so dependent on being able to dump his burdens onto others? He snorts. If anyone could lighten the weight on his shoulders, it _would_ be the Goddess of Gravity herself.

“What’s funny?”

A smile tugs at one corner of his mouth. “Just thinking that you’re a good choice for helping someone carry their emotional baggage.”

Silence.

And then she bursts out laughing, and he almost jumps out of his sleeping roll.

“Was that a _gravity_ joke?”

“Maybe.” He bites his lip, trying not to laugh, and failing. After — he’s not sure _how_ long he’d been trying to get out — so much time spent under intense pressure, now that the end is in sight, the tension has to break _somehow._

She rolls onto her side, face serious. “Shouto, are you resorting to jokes to avoid discussing… heavier topics?” Her straight face cracks by the end of her voicing the question.

He drops an arm over his face.

“But really,” she says, her voice growing genuinely serious. “If you want to talk, I’m here to listen.”

“I just…” He sighs heavily. “She must have left when I was so young. If she couldn’t love me then… why would now be any better?”

“Shouto… she’s your _mother.”_ She says that like it’s an immutable fact that parents love their children. But… 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” he says, bitterness making his voice sharp. “Endeavor— _My_ _father_ was my father. Maybe it’s _me;_ maybe _I’m_ the problem.”

“No, definitely not,” Ochako says, firmly. “Inko was a bit like a mother to you, wasn’t she? In some ways, anyway? And obviously she loves you.”

Shouto frowns. “Not really like a _mother,_ it’s not like I was treated like part of her family, but I understand what you mean. Why do you say she _obviously_ loves me?”

“Well, she asked us to help you, didn’t she? That means something.”

 _What…?_ “She— what? She asked you?”

“Yeah,” she says, slowly. “She got in touch with Hawks sometime when he was down there — sent All Might a message. Told him about you, that you wanted out, that Endeavor was keeping you there against your will.”

He stares at her.

“You really didn’t know?” Her voice is gentle.

He shakes his head, and looks back up at the incredible night sky. Tears gather in his eyes, and he presses his lips together, trying to stop the quivering. 

It almost makes it all worse. If his mother turns out to not want him, then he’d _left_ the person who held the kind of love for him that he’d been searching for. And even if she _does…_ it’s still bittersweet.

“No,” he says, softly. “I didn’t know.”

Ochako exhales audibly. “That’s a lot.”

“Yep.”

They lie there in silence, until Ochako speaks up again.

“Maybe you can get Hawks to bring her a message? To thank her?”

“No.” Shouto clenches his fists. “Endeavor could discover it, and then—“ he cuts off that train of thought. “She’s put herself in enough danger for me already.”

“What… Shouto, what would he do?” Ochako asks, softly. “I mean, she's the _Mother of Night —_ what _could_ he do?”

He can't bring himself to answer. His father might not be able to do much to Inko herself, but he has other ways to punish her.

Green hair, green eyes, a bright smile.

He _can't_ let that happen.

“I'm going to sleep.” He rolls over, facing away from her. “Goodnight, Ochako.”

“...Goodnight, Shouto.”

* * *

“This is the place?” Shouto whispers, peering out from behind a tree. A figure stands at the entrance of the temple, face shrouded by a deep cowl. They're holding a spear at their side. The light of the mid-morning sun glints off its tip.

Ochako nods and gestures at the figure. “That's Thirteen.”

“They look like a sentinel.” He scans the nearby terrain. He'd brought his sword, but had hoped he wouldn't need to use it.

“It does look like they're guarding this place. And there was that warning… I wish I could remember more.” She furrows her brow. “Why don't we just try explaining ourselves before we make any assumptions.”

He takes a breath, and nods at her. They step out from behind the tree.

“Hello,” he calls. “I'm looking for—”

“You are not welcome here!” Thirteen shouts, shifting to a combat stance and lifting their spear. “Leave now, or I will have to take action against you.”

He holds his hands up in front of himself, and takes a small step forward. “I don't want to fight, I just—”

Thirteen throws the spear… way off target, if he’s the target.

And then he’s on the ground, face full of snow.

Ochako is down with him, having dived at him to knock him flat. And the tree directly behind them has a spear embedded in its trunk, at least a foot deep.

“What— where did—?”

“Fuck!” Ochako’s eyes are wide, looking at… a pinprick of _nothingness_ hovering in the air between them and Thirteen. The light itself distorts around it, and the spear flies back into their hand. _What?_

“How—?” Shouto stares, baffled.

“Maybe that physics lesson _would_ have been a good idea,” she mutters, not making any sense.

Thirteen throws the spear again, up into the air. The nothingness moves too.

“Roll!” Ochako shouts, and Shouto obeys just in time for the spear to slam tip-first into the ground where he’d been laying an instant earlier. He scrambles to his feet, heart pounding. He still has no idea what will happen if he dies.

Thirteen somehow pulls the spear back again. “No man may enter here!” They ready their stance for another throw.

“He’s just trying to find his mother!” Ochako steps in front of him.

Thirteen lowers the spear a fraction. “Ochako, you should know that you're not an obstacle to _me.”_

“We’ll go! Okay? But please — his name is Shouto. He’s looking for his mother, Rei,” Ochako calls, putting her hands out in front of herself. “Go ask if she wants to see him, if she’s there. We’ll wait at a distance.”

She takes a step back, and Shouto follows her cue, backing away as well.

Thirteen nods once before turning and disappearing inside the temple.

* * *

Out of sight of the temple, Shouto sits on a fallen log, bouncing his leg.

“They nodded,” he says, worrying at his lip. “Does that mean she’s really in there?”

Ochako drops onto the log beside him and stretches her legs out. “Maybe? What we said must have meant something, or I imagine they’d have kept attacking.”

He sighs heavily. Sitting here just _waiting_ when everything points to his mother being practically within reach is excruciating. But the idea of being on the wrong end of Thirteen’s spear again is enough of a deterrent to keep him in place.

“How does that spear work?” he asks. A distraction would be nice.

Ochako chuckles. “It’s just a regular spear. Thirteen is able to warp the fabric of spacetime itself in localized regions to create the desired trajectory for it.” She frowns. “Pulling it back to their hand is new, though. Not sure how that works.”

Right. Because the other part had been totally clear.

“Ochako,” Thirteen’s voice comes from behind, eliciting a startled yelp from her. “I would be happy to elaborate on that technique after I have escorted Shouto into the temple.” A shift in stance, and they're addressing him. “You cannot bring your sword.”

He stands. Ochako nods at him, and he hands over his blade for her safekeeping.

The three of them cover the short distance back to the temple. Ochako stops at the entrance, reaching to give his hand a brief squeeze.

“Good luck,” she whispers.

Thirteen leads him through winding corridors and up narrow staircases. Natural patterns in the marble of the walls dance into ephemeral life in the flickering torchlight and Shouto’s heartbeat is deafening in his ears.

Eventually, Thirteen stops just before a doorway and pulls aside the drape hanging across the threshold. He squints against sudden bright light flooding through the gap.

A slight woman sits in a chair across the small room, her long, white hair illuminated by the sunlight pouring through the window she sits beside.

And he _knows._ His search is over. He's found his mother, finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not going to be 10 chapters (shock!), it's shaping up to be somewhere around 14 or 15 instead.


	10. Reunited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The latest Hades update came out on Monday, which introduced the goddess Demeter. They've gone the route of all her powers being winter-based, so that's a fun little coincidence (even though Rei is the analogue to Persephone, not Demeter).

“Mother,” Shouto whispers.

She turns, lifting a hand to pull aside the veil of long, white hair obscuring her face. 

She looks… like him. Well, not the part of him that shares his father’s infernal complexion, but his nose, his cheekbones, the shape of her eyes.

“Oh, my Shouto,” she says, softly. “It’s really you.”

Her voice— his breath catches, his heart stutters. 

She holds out a hand, beckoning him closer, and he stumbles to his knees at her feet.

His mother folds her arms around him, and he’s a tiny child again, head in his mother’s lap. Memories that had been locked away by the passage of time come back to him, summoned by the familiarity of her voice, her scent, her fingers in his hair.

Glimpses of the past: sitting in her lap, tucked close against her, his little fingers playing with her soft, beautiful hair; her murmuring stories in his ear about the gods of Olympus; and— and his devastation at her disappearance.

“I’m so sorry, Shouto.” Her hands brush against his face — wiping away tears. “I’ve always regretted leaving you there. With  _ him.” _

He sobs.

After all this time. After every horror, all the suffering he endured. She’s here. He’s finally,  _ finally  _ found her.

“I hope…” Her voice is thick with emotion. “I hope you know it wasn’t because I didn’t love you. I have  _ always _ loved you, Shouto.”

He takes a ragged breath and looks up at her face, streaked with tears. “Then why…?” He trails off.  _ Why did you abandon me? _

She shakes her head, expression heartbroken. “I don’t think I could ever fully explain. My mind was broken — I wasn’t myself.”

His stomach turns, and he clenches his jaw. What had his father  _ done _ to her?

She brushes his hair away from his face with her fingers. “I understand if you can’t forgive me. I know I don’t deserve it.”

He stares. He has firsthand experience with the insane measures one could be driven to in order to get away from his father. There’s no way she could have escaped with a small child in tow if her ordeal had been even a fraction as challenging as his had been. How could he hold it against her, if she’d felt that she truly could not stay a moment longer? But…

“Why didn't you tell the Olympians? They could have helped you, or figured something to do to get me out, too.”

She sighs. “At first, I couldn't speak to anyone at all. I…” She looks away. “I don't want to go into detail about that.”

He nods, waiting.

She shifts her gaze back to him, eyes sad. “And then, I didn't know who I could trust. I was terrified someone would tell  _ him  _ where I had been hiding, and he'd find me and bring me back down there.”

He stands up and takes her hands, helping her to her feet. “Come back to Olympus with me. All Might will keep you safe; you can trust him, really.”

Her eyes widen and fill with tears. “So— so you…?”

He pulls her close. The top of her head barely reaches his chin. He’s  _ not  _ a little boy, unable to understand where his mother had gone — not anymore.

“Yes, I forgive you. Of course I do.”

* * *

They walk out of the temple together. His mother approaches Thirteen and exchanges some quiet words with them.

Ochako comes to stand at his side. “Seems like it went well?”

Shouto nods, smiling softly at his mother. “Yeah. Better than I’d hoped — she’s going to come back with us to Olympus.”

“That’s wonderful, Shouto.” 

Shouto frowns slightly. “I’m a little worried. I don’t know how well she’ll do around All Might,” Shouto says, quietly. “I know he’d never hurt her, but his voice and build are similar enough to my father’s… I still don't know exactly what she went through, but I know it was bad.”

Ochako puts a hand on his arm. “She’s welcome to stay with me and Tsu until something more permanent is sorted out.”

Shouto looks at her. “You’d do that for us?”

“Yeah, of course. Anyone would.” She raises an eyebrow. “Okay, not  _ anyone.  _ But you get what I’m saying.”

He shakes his head. These people and their easy kindness — it surprises him every time. In the Underworld, there had been kindness, but most often it was constrained to actions that fit within the bounds of his father's directives. 

Aizawa, assigned to train Shouto in basic combat after his father had gotten sick of the poor results under his own brutal, ineffective tutelage, had taught him the exact skills that had turned out to be essential to defeating his father. Tokoyami, assisting him during his escape attempts under the thin veneer of competition. Katsuki, choosing a torture method for Kirishima that he knew couldn't really hurt him.

Inko… Inko had been an exception. She had cared for him after his mother had left. She had contacted the Olympians on his behalf, and had given him her shawl, which, if nothing else, had kept him alive long enough for Ochako and Tsu to find him. Yes, she'd lied to him for most of his life about his mother's existence, but she had done everything possible to make amends since the truth had come out.

And Izuku. He'd  _ always  _ been kind to Shouto. Even when Shouto had been a complete ass to him in response. He'd helped him escape, despite Shouto possibly being his only friend. He— Izuku—

Ochako’s hand on his arm squeezes briefly. “What's wrong?”

Shouto blinks. “Huh?”

“You looked  _ heartbroken,  _ just now.” She tilts her head. “I thought you'd be happy about finding your mother.”

“I am,” he replies, softly. “I am happy.”

Thirteen and his mother come back out of the sanctuary with a small pack — apparently they'd gone to collect her few belongings at some point, and he hadn’t noticed.

Thirteen is hard to read, with their shrouded features, but there is an air of contrition in their posture, now. “I apologize for trying to keep you out. No men have been allowed here in a very long time.”

“I understand,” he says. Doubtless, there had been a good reason for that.

“As soon as I mentioned your name, Rei told me to stand down,” Thirteen explains.

His mother puts a hand on their shoulder. “You were protecting me. Shouto can forgive that, I think.”

Shouto nods. “And I appreciate it. Really.”

His mother embraces Thirteen, and then steps away, turning to Ochako.

“I'm ready to leave this place.”

* * *

The change is subtle, at first. But when Shouto looks back along the route they've been following on their return trip to Olympus, the difference is obvious. And incredible.

The snow has melted for a moderate distance to either side of their path, and flowers are blooming in the now-lush, green grass.

He slows down and cranes his neck, looking skyward. The trees overhead are blossoming, the leaves actually growing right before his eyes. Warm, golden sun rays filter down through the foliage, when moments ago the branches had been bare and colorless. Birdsong surrounds them. It’s… peaceful.

Ochako and his mother are smiling and laughing together just ahead of him. Is her localized effect on the seasons tied to her emotional state? What does that suggest about the Sanctuary of Thirteen being in a state of permanent winter presumably ever since she took up residence there?

Either way, she seems… happy, for the moment. If nothing else, at least she can have a life again, on Olympus. If her concerns were well-founded, and someone tells his father about her location… well. Shouto had killed him once. He can do it again.

He might have been a small child when she’d last faced whatever horrors his father had inflicted on her, but that’s not the case anymore — he  _ won’t _ let anything happen to her.


	11. Someone Meaningful

Ochako and Tsu take his mother in, as promised, and she remains with them even after her skittishness around All Might fades as she becomes more familiar with him.

Shouto visits frequently, but turns down repeated offers to move in. They are already giving up their personal space for his mother; they don’t need things becoming even more cramped.

All Might insists that his guest room — the room Shouto had first woken up in on Olympus — is Shouto’s for as long as he’d like to stay. It's a far cry from his father's insistence that Shouto himself had been just another possession to be kept and used.

He tries to keep busy. He visits his mother, helps the other gods with their routine tasks, makes himself available to whoever wants to talk with him.

…Makes himself available to whoever wants to do  _ more _ than talk with him — a common pastime among the younger gods on Olympus, apparently.

But it's nothing meaningful — and he always,  _ always  _ returns to his room to sleep alone.

Sometimes, on the edge of unconsciousness after returning to his bed, or upon waking, still foggy from sleep, he imagines someone  _ else  _ there with him. Just — there; it doesn’t have to be more than that. Someone meaningful.

Green eyes, green hair. Bright smile.

His daydreams are interrupted one morning by a soft knock on his door frame.

He sits up, rubbing his eyes. “Mother?”

“Just came to check on you, Shouto,” she says, gently. “It’s been a few days.”

It has? “It has?”

She nods, and sits down on the bed. “Have you been here this whole time?”

He blinks. He’d thought he’d been to visit her yesterday, but if that hadn’t been yesterday, then… “I guess so.”

She smiles, but her eyes have a melancholy look about them. “You left someone behind, didn’t you? This is how I was when I first came to the surface. Honestly… this is how I was most of the time, until you came to get me from the temple.”

He swallows. He can’t — talk about this, with her. Can he? Won’t it sound like he regrets going in search of her?

“Not everyone down there is… like  _ him,  _ I know. I remember,” she says, hands folded in her lap. “I never would have escaped without Inko's help.”

“Oh?” he asks, weakly. His debt of gratitude to Inko is becoming insurmountable.

“She had her little one, Izuku, put…  _ him—”  _ her knuckles are white, gripping the fabric of her dress in her lap “—to sleep. She said she’d pass it off as an innocent mistake. I just— I hope nothing terrible happened to him because of me.”

“He’s okay,” Shouto says, quietly. “Izuku, I mean. He’s still there, so… that explanation must have been good enough.” 

Izuku had probably never been let within arms reach of his father since then, though. And it explains his posting as a greeter of the newly dead — close enough to keep an eye on, far enough away to keep his powers from ever again being used inappropriately.

Her shoulders sag in obvious relief. This has been weighing on her, apparently. “At the time, I told myself that he wouldn’t— wouldn’t go so far as to harm a child, but later, once I was out… I couldn’t forgive myself for letting someone so young take that risk on my behalf. I was selfish— a coward.”

“Mother…” Shouto starts, reaching out to take her hands. “Please don’t say those things about yourself. You were in an impossible situation.”

She sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“I know Izuku.” He swallows hard, trying to keep his voice steady. “And that’s exactly the kind of risk he would choose to take, even now.” He can’t help but smile, just slightly. “He's something special.”

Her eyes meet his, widening slightly. “It’s him, isn’t it? The one you left behind.”

Shouto looks away. It’s ridiculous, moping around like this over someone who— nothing had even— they hadn’t been—

His mother touches his cheek, and he looks back at her. “Shouto, you’re heartsick about this — it’s obvious. I don’t know how you left things with him, but if you’re hurting, you’re hurting. Telling yourself you shouldn’t won’t do any good when it comes to love.”

Tears prick at the corners of his eyes. She’s right — he  _ does  _ love him, as absurd as that is. He’s put himself in the exact same situation as Aizawa and Yamada. He’d spent time contemplating what could be worse than spending eternity apart from one’s love, and come up with nothing. And now that is his reality.

Her arms come around his shoulders, and he leans against her. He made his choice. He’ll just have to suffer the consequences.

* * *

The mortals are in the midst of some war or other — Shouto hasn't been paying close attention to the details — someone's wife or daughter is problematically in love with an enemy king or prince, or some such trifling issue. 

Apparently, one side has done something to win Recovery Girl’s favor, because she gets word of the fighting having escalated, and asks for Shouto to come along to help.

There have been a lot of requests for him to come along and provide some sort of nebulous ‘help’, lately. His mother’s doing, perhaps — a coordinated effort to get his mind off his troubles.

This time, ‘helping’ means sorting between the only-mostly-dead and the all-the-way-dead lying on the battlefield. Recovery Girl is barely visible in the distance, slowly working her way over to his location.

Despite it being midday, twilight descends suddenly in the area, accompanied by an unnatural chill. Shouto turns, slowly.

Running into Tokoyami was inevitable, in these circumstances — something he would have realized if he'd bothered to spend two seconds thinking about it.

The god of death strikes an imposing figure on the battlefield, shrouded in darkness, scythe looming tall at his side.

“Shouto,” Tokoyami says, voice ringing out in the eerie stillness. “You look well.”

Shouto shrugs, reticent — Tokoyami had helped him, and would be unlikely to betray him by passing along sensitive information to his father, but it's best to err on the side of caution.

“It's good to see you, Tokoyami,” Shouto says, and it is, even if it’s also somewhat awkward. “How are… things? How is everyone?”

“The inexorable passage of time marches ever onwards, with or without your presence in the Underworld, Shouto,” Tokoyami says, sweeping his scythe to create a soul-collecting circle. “Things are fine.”

Shouto nods. “That's good.”

“Your father was livid, of course, when you made it out. Threw quite the tantrum.” Tokoyami’s voice is as steady as ever, but a hint of amusement makes it through.

Well, that was to be expected. As long as he hadn't taken it out on anyone else.

“Aizawa can't do much to show it, but from what I've seen… he's proud of you, for succeeding at last,” Tokoyami continues. “Momo just seems relieved to be back to her normal assignment.”

“Not disappointed that she doesn't get to spend all her time trying to kill me anymore?” Shouto laughs darkly.

Tokoyami shakes his head. “You know she was only working under strict orders, Shouto.”

Shouto nods, looking away. It's just hard not to take it personally, the umpteenth time one is ruthlessly attacked by someone who was once a friend.

“I suppose life has gone on as usual for everyone else,” he says, looking back at him and attempting a grin.

Tokoyami sighs. “Maybe you should know, Shouto…” he trails off, glancing down.

Dread fills his chest, and his heart rate picks up. “Know what?”

“Izuku isn't himself,” Tokoyami says, quietly. “I haven't seen much of him — this war has kept me well-occupied — but every moment I've been around him, he's been radiating pure despair.”

It’s a punch to the gut. Izuku is suffering… because of him? He swallows, licks his lips. “What— um. What’s he so upset about?”

Tokoyami shrugs, eyeing him sideways. “He's not talking. But one time… your father was away, taking care of some urgent matter, and he sent me to the House to supervise in his stead. When I arrived, Izuku wasn't at his post — I had to go looking for him.”

“Oh?” Shouto asks, faintly. “Did you find him?”

“I did.” He nods. “He was asleep. In  _ your room, _ Shouto.”

He stares.

_ … It'll break my heart… Would break my heart… Hypothetically…  _

How long had Izuku known? How long had Shouto been in the dark about his feelings?

Recovery Girl's voice cuts through the words echoing in his mind. “Shouto, dear, I'm all finished here!”

His eyes dart around until they land on her. Her gaze shifts to his side, and she smiles warmly. “Tokoyami, how nice to see you.”

“I should get on with this,” Tokoyami says, nodding at her and gesturing at the rest of the battlefield. He turns back to Shouto. “I hope it was worth it.”

It's ambiguous, but not. Was getting away from his father and finding his mother worth the pain he'd caused?

Thoughts swirl in his head on the way back to Olympus. Living as a possession of his father's hadn't been an existence he could have continued. And his mother had been in that temple for an age, depressed and suffering, until he'd found her and voiced his forgiveness. And she's so happy now — she has a life again, people who care about her. He can't bring himself to regret that.

And he'd been willing to accept his own suffering as a result of his actions. But… how can he make that choice for Izuku? Izuku, who had done everything possible to help him escape, despite knowing what that would mean for himself.

They arrive back at Olympus. The battlefield hadn't been far.

His mother takes him by the arms. “What's wrong? You look devastated.”

Ochako and Tsu approach as well, faces full of concern.

Shouto looks at each one of them in turn, and then back to his mother. His churning thoughts have settled on a conclusion.

“I have to go back,” he says. “I have to go get him.”


	12. With A Little Help From My Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow update. I had a bit of a block for a few days writing the chapter after this one, and I didn’t want to post this until I was sure I didn’t need to make any major changes to this one to make the next one work.
> 
> I got a few really wonderful, sweet comments during the wait — thanks so much for those, they were a big contribution towards getting me unstuck! Seriously — if you’ve written and gotten comments before, I’m sure you already know, but if you haven’t — they’re like an addictive drug, lol. The rush from reading positive feedback is intense.

“Shouto, are you sure?” Tsu presses her lips together, brow furrowed. “This seems reckless; none of us know what will happen to you if you die again.”

Ochako shakes her head. “You won't be able to talk him out of it, Tsu. It's love — you would do the same for me, I would do the same for you.”

Tsu frowns. “That’s true, but rushing headlong back into the Underworld is unlikely to result in a good outcome. We need a plan.”

Shouto raises an eyebrow. _“We?”_ He’d explained the situation to them, but not out of any sort of expectation for help.

“Well, of course,” Tsu says, shortly. “It would be suicide — potentially, anyway — for you to attempt this alone.”

“I’m not going to allow anyone to put themselves at risk on my behalf,” Shouto says, folding his arms.

Ochako laughs. “Oh yeah? Go ahead and try to stop us.”

Tsu tilts her head. “It’s not really much risk for us, personally. If either of us dies, we’ll just end up back on Olympus.”

“None of the big shots can come; like All Might said, there are some agreements they can’t break,” Ochako says. She turns to face him. “But _we_ can help. You don’t have to do this alone, Shouto.”

His gaze falls on his mother, who has been silent thus far. “What are you thinking?” He keeps his voice soft.

She takes his hands, frowning. “That I'm terrified of losing you again right after we've finally been reunited.” She meets his eyes, and a small smile graces her lips. “That I wish I had the mental fortitude to come with you, to face him down myself, once and for all.”

Shouto squeezes her hands gently. Whatever he does, he has to _win._ He can't leave her brokenhearted.

Her grip on his hands strengthens. “I'll do the next best thing. Borrow my power, like you did with the other gods when you escaped.”

Her power flows through him from where their hands are connected, cool and tingly.

“Thank you, Mother,” he whispers, pulling her to his chest and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Tsu speaks up. “We should ask the rest of the gods to do the same, if they're willing. You need every possible advantage.”

Shouto nods, turning his face towards All Might's palace. He's asked a lot of him and the other Olympians already, but there may be a way to make this worth their while.

* * *

A handful of other minor and demi-gods and -goddesses decide to come with him to the Underworld. It can't all be out of a sense of loyalty or obligation to him — he's helped Mina and Kyouka out with patrols a few times, sure, but the others…? Maybe Mezou and Hanta have some degree of personal attachment to him after their time spent together, but they both know the reason he's going back — it's not like they could be harboring hopes of winning his affection.

As for the rest… 

“It's something to do,” Hitoshi says, with an indifferent shrug and a slow blink. “And I have nothing to lose. Your dad sounds like a real asshole, anyway.”

“I've never been to the Underworld before,” Denki says, cheerful grin suggesting this is no different than if Shouto had suggested they go sightseeing somewhere new.

Shouto looks to each of them in turn, and nods. He'll take what he can get.

In addition to those coming along to support him in person, the power of several Olympians flickers just beneath his skin, almost overwhelming. With the aid of Cementoss, he can form the ground beneath his feet into defensive walls. Ectoplasm had given him the ability to make multiple illusions of himself. He has Recovery Girl's second chance, All Might's strength, and Midnight’s power to weaken his enemies.

He'll need it all. He'd fought his father at least a hundred times before he'd been able to defeat him _once._ It had been easy to feel confident about his chances months ago, when he'd first brought his mother to Olympus, but the truth is that his father's defeat might have just been a fluke. Shouto had only needed to win once, and he’d had as many chances as he could stand to give himself. 

This time, he can't afford to _lose_ — not even once.

* * *

His father is not waiting for them at the gates of the Underworld. No one is. The wind whistles, hollow and eerie, as they approach the Gates of Elysium — the _outer_ gates, this time. Passing through the place where he and his father had fought to the death over and over again sends a chill down his spine.

He stops, heartbeat loud in his ears. It's hard to breathe. The phantom sensation of a spear pushing through his gut, through his neck, through his _eye_ — the memory of being slashed across the thigh and being left to inevitably bleed out — _deja vu_ of a hundred deaths drops him to his knees.

He's suddenly surrounded by concerned faces, a chorus of voices asking if he's okay. A dozen hands reach out and lift him up.

“Sorry,” he says. Not all of them know what he went through, in this spot. None of them know the details of every death he suffered during the course of his escape attempts. Only one other person knows it all.

“Did something stop you?” Tsu asks, frowning. “Maybe your father's statement that you could never return was a literal one. Is there some force preventing you from continuing?”

He shakes his head, attempting a wry grin. “Just personal trauma.”

“It's okay not to be okay, Shouto,” Ochako says, squeezing his arm. “You don't have to do this now. You don't have to do this at all — _we_ could go down and try to get him, while you stay safe. We don't know—”

“Right, we don't know what will happen if I die.” Shouto grits his teeth. “I'm not _insane_ — it's legitimately terrifying. But I need to do this anyway.”

Ochako nods, but her brows are drawn together, doubtful.

“These gates are huge,” Mina says, across the courtyard. “We're going to need to work together to get them open.”

A concerted effort gets the gates pulled open. Counterintuitive, that it's more difficult from this side — aren't they supposed to keep souls _in,_ not out?

“Go team!” Mina cheers. Hopefully, her enthusiasm will catch on with the rest of the group — unsurprisingly, morale is an important factor when traveling through hell itself.

Iida and Aoyama aren't in their usual spot, and Shouto breathes a sigh of relief.

“It's nice here,” Tsu says, a small smile on her face as she looks around. The lush vegetation and soothing mist of Elysium must be pretty close to an ideal environment for her.

“I thought so too,” Shouto says, narrowing his eyes and scanning the area for lurking enemies. “Until I realized everyone here is constantly trying to kill everyone else.”

He pulls up a wall in front of her just in time to block an incoming arrow, and rolls behind it.

“Archers!” he calls, and turns to Tsu. “Case in point,” he says, more quietly, and she wrinkles her nose.

Literally paradise, and all anyone wants to do is battle to the death — Tsu’s obvious distaste is rightly earned.

“They’re deadly if they have time to aim, but if you can corner them, they’re helpless!” Shouto demonstrates his point on the nearest one. 

The group makes short work of their assailants. It's _so much easier_ with the help of others. The shades of Elysium are geared towards single combat — they don't stand a chance against a coordinated effort. Maybe some of them had fought together in life, but it's clearly a long-forgotten memory for most of them.

They steadily make their way through Elysium with Shouto giving as much of a rundown as he can whenever they encounter another type of enemy. 

Tsu is a force of nature, taking on aspects of creatures that would thrive in this environment to camouflage herself. She destroys one enemy after another, often before they have even a single opportunity to attack her. It's impressive to watch. Borrowing her power for his escape attempts would not have been a waste of time in the slightest. 

Ochako catches his eye and grins at him, and he smiles back sheepishly. His awe of her partner must have been written all over his face.

They enter a familiar area, and Yamada looks up, taking in the appearance of the group with raised eyebrows. Shouto puts a hand out and lowers his sword, and the rest follow his lead.

“What's all this?” Yamada asks, eyes scanning each of them in turn.

“Who’s this guy?” Kyouka asks, narrowing her eyes. “He seems different from the rest of them.”

Shouto approaches cautiously. Yamada had never attacked him before, but Aizawa had mentioned that their situation was precarious, and he might not be supportive of the idea of Shouto and his allies shaking up the status quo at the House.

“We're fighting our way back down to the House of Endeavor. There's someone I need to see again,” Shouto explains, trying to gauge Yamada’s reaction.

Yamada stands up. “Are you, now?”

He reaches for his weapon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I think about whether Mirio/Amajiki would have made more sense for Achilles/Patroclus, but it’s far too late to make that change, obviously. I’ll leave it to your imaginations.
> 
> Going into this I didn’t think I would have the energy for another longfic right off of finishing [To All The Skaters I’ve Loved Before](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20703386/chapters/49179629), but now that I’m most of the way through I feel like I could have, and I wish I’d gone into more depth with some of the earlier chapters. I definitely don’t have the energy to rewrite it, though.
> 
> For sure hit me up on tumblr if you want to chat about headcanons or ask me questions about stuff I didn’t go into detail about!


	13. Team Shouto

“There's someone I need to see again, too.” Yamada slings his bow across his back.

Shouto lets out the breath he’d been holding. “You’re— you want to come with us?”

“Indeed,” Yamada says, lifting his chin. “I’ve sat around wallowing for long enough. This looks to be as good a chance as any for me to actually do something about this miserable situation.”

Shouto looks towards the rest of the group.

Kyouka inclines her head. “Good different, then.”

Mina nods. “The more, the merrier!”

‘Merry’ isn’t a word Shouto would have used to describe Yamada based on their previous interactions, but his demeanor has completely shifted, now.

Maybe he’d only been subdued out of a sense of helplessness — resolving himself to take action seems to have energized him. The man Shouto had caught a glimpse of before, when he’d first mentioned Aizawa to him, has come out in full force.

“And you can conjure pools of acid?” he’s asking Mina, who gives a brief demonstration. He nods, and moves on, taking stock of them all.

He returns to Shouto. “You’ve got an impressive little group here,” he says. “Let’s see how they fare in battle! Lead the way, Shouto!”

* * *

Nemean Chariots can’t really grind an opponent into dust beneath their wheels when they’ve been rendered weightless. Half of the chariots hang in the air above their heads, giant, deadly wheels spinning ineffectively as Yamada picks them off one by one with his bow. All Ochako had needed to do was get close enough to touch each one. The other half have mostly been dissolved after running into Mina’s acid pools.

“I can’t believe you fought through all this alone,” Mezou says as they take a moment to breathe.

Shouto leans against a wall. “It’s not like I had any other choice.” He laughs mirthlessly. “It’s not anything impressive; I failed hundreds of times before I ever managed to face Endeavor at the surface.”

Mezou shakes his head. “You had a choice — you could have given up entirely. A lesser person would have. Or you could have come out of it hardened and cruel.”

Denki joins them, resting an elbow on Shouto’s shoulder. “Yeah, don’t sell yourself short. You’re an inspiration! It’s amazing that you weren’t an asshole to begin with, your dad being who he is.”

Denki jostles him, grinning pointedly until Shouto smiles, just slightly.

“That’s better,” he says, and walks off to insert himself into whatever Kyouka, Mina, and Hitoshi are conversing about.

“He’s right, you know,” Mezou says, quietly — it’s amazing that someone with such a large physical presence can be so soft-spoken. “None of us would be here if we didn’t believe in you, no matter how nonchalant about it some of them seemed back on Olympus.”

Shouto closes his eyes, sighing heavily. His time on Olympus is foggy; he’d been operating automatically, failing to process everything he’d been through, trying to come to terms with what he’d gained — what he’d lost. But regardless of how thoroughly he’d thrown himself into helping the others with their responsibilities, striving to fill an Izuku-shaped hole with new connections, new purpose — he can’t possibly deserve this much faith from them.

He opens his eyes. “We should keep moving.”

* * *

Shouto drops low and forms a wall out of the ground as Aoyama’s spear soars past him.

Ugh. Had it been too much to ask that their absence up until now had meant that they’d found something more productive to do than get in his way?

“Do we really need to do this?” Shouto calls. “What did Endeavor come up with this time? Now I’m a monster who needs to be kept _out_ of the Underworld?”

“Monster?” Hitoshi whispers, crouched beside him.

Shouto shrugs. No time for a long-winded explanation of his father’s methods of roping in assistant jail keepers.

“Come out, you cowardly snake!” Aoyama’s voice seethes with animosity. “I see you’ve manipulated a few little godlings into aiding you!”

Is it really necessary to be so insulting? It’s not like Shouto’s ever done anything against him personally, other than killing him repeatedly — but Aoyama’s attitude had been around before all that, even.

Shouto frowns, looking around at his friends. Would they doubt his honesty at this point? Could they be led to believe that he _had_ manipulated them?

“Hey, Shouto,” Hanta says, putting a hand on his arm. “You didn’t even ask us to come. We know you didn’t manipulate anybody.”

The rest nod their agreement, faces earnest — even Hitoshi and Kyouka.

“Even if you’d tried, we’re not idiots,” Hitoshi adds with a smirk.

Is he really that transparent? He twists his mouth. He _hasn’t_ lied to any of them, no — but has he done anything to deserve all this trust and loyalty?

Yamada steps forward. “Would you say that _I_ am a gullible fool, Aoyama?”

Aoyama’s over-dramatic gasp is audible even from behind a barrier across the room. “Yamada Hizashi? What are you doing in the company of this contemptible scoundrel?”

“That is enough, Yuuga.” Iida’s voice rings out for the first time since their arrival. “Up until now, I have fulfilled my duty as a combatant at your side without voicing any of my doubts of Endeavor’s claims. But Shouto has fought with honor every single time, and here he stands with the clear support of Olympus. And Yamada Hizashi is championing his cause, as well.”

“What are you suggesting, Tenya?” Aoyama asks, incredulity raising the pitch of his voice at least an octave.

Their voices drop in volume, and Shouto peers around the edge of his barricade. Iida has pulled Aoyama to the side and is gesturing sharply towards their group.

Shouto nudges Kyouka. “Can you make out what they are saying?”

She nods, and closes her eyes. After a moment, she starts to speak. “The big one with the axe—”

“Iida Tenya,” Shouto provides.

“—is systematically debunking every claim your father has made against you. The shiny one—”

“Aoyama Yuuga.”

“—seems skeptical, but he’s listening.”

Shouto exhales slowly. Maybe this won’t come down to a fight after all. As a group, they would almost certainly be able to prevail against the two of them, but likely not without casualties. Iida’s axe is almost instantly lethal, and he’s _fast._ Aoyama’s spear can’t be ignored, either.

Kyouka opens her eyes and raises an eyebrow at him. “Did you really keep letting him go after you’d nearly defeated him, knowing that meant you’d have to face him again _with_ his little friend?”

Shouto glances down and away. “He yielded. And it’s not like I ever actually _wanted_ to fight him.” He’d always hoped that one day, Iida would stop wanting to fight him, too.

“You’re too good for your own good, Shouto,” Kyouka says, shaking her head. She pats his hand gently.

“Mm,” he replies, noncommittal. It’s hard to agree, knowing how badly he’d treated Izuku — inadvertently, but still. He’d taken years to make it to the surface after learning of his mother’s existence — additional years in which she’d continued to suffer, as a result of his inadequacy. And now, making everyone help him—

“They’re coming over here,” Kyouka whispers, interrupting his self-flagellation session.

Shouto tenses, readying himself to jump out from behind his wall. He grips his sword and calling his mother’s frost to his fingertips. If he can slow Iida down, maybe—

“We’ve decided to join you in your quest, Shouto,” Iida announces, and Shouto blinks. 

They want to _join_ him? Not just let him past without a fight?

He stands up, narrowing his eyes. “How do I know I can trust _him?”_ He jerks his chin at Aoyama while maintaining eye contact with Iida.

Iida nudges Aoyama, who stumbles forward from the force of it.

Aoyama scuffs at the ground with his foot. “I apologize, Shouto. I was operating under some false conceptions about you, but still — it was excessive for me to make it so… _personal.”_

Ochako and Tsu come to stand at either side of him, arms folded. Aoyama’s eyes widen, and he shrinks under the intensity of their glares.

“We’ll keep an eye on him for you, Shouto,” Ochako says.

Tsu nods. “If he reaches for his spear without good reason, he’s done.”

Aoyama visibly swallows.

Shouto nods. “More the merrier,” he says, voice flat. He glances at Mina, and she grins.

She inserts herself between Iida and Aoyama, slapping them each on the back. “Welcome to team Shouto!”


	14. A Step Toward Restoration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I was slow to post this one. I’ve been dealing with sick kids, then a sick husband (and then a sick me) all week.

The Hydra is laughably easy to defeat when its numbers advantage is taken away. After Shouto gives a quick explanation of how to tell which heads have what capabilities —  _ A red-horned one got you that time, did it?  _ Izuku’s voice echoes in his mind as he relays the information to the group (he hadn’t even noticed they  _ had  _ distinct horn colors, at that point) — they pair off and handle each of its heads independently, and it doesn’t stand a chance.

“Well fought, everyone,” he says, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. Maybe they can actually  _ do  _ this.

Hanta grins. “It’s almost too easy, with how well you know the strengths and weaknesses of everything we could possibly face down here.”

Hitoshi rolls his eyes. “Would you rather he leave us in the dark so we can figure it out for ourselves? Make it a little more interesting for you?”

Hanta raises his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m just saying, it’s nice having someone around with practically encyclopedic knowledge.”

Shouto smiles faintly. There’s really only one person to thank for that, and it’s not him. If they appreciate this level of detail, they’ll  _ really  _ enjoy talking to Izuku.

Their progress through Asphodel is going smoothly, with his mother’s power allowing him to lower the temperature from nigh-unbearable to downright comfortable. According to his books of lore, it had been a fairly nice place before the River Phlegathon had overflowed and flooded it with lava.

Maybe cooling it down is a step towards restoring the place to a semblance of its former self. Perhaps he’s managed to do something productive in this, even if he ends up failing miserably at his overall quest. No guarantee the effect will last if he’s gone, though.

“Thanks for this, Shouto,” Tsu says, combing ash out of her hair with her fingers. “I wouldn’t have lasted long in that horrible dry heat.”

Ugh, right. He  _ is  _ an asshole — or, at least, an inconsiderate person — despite what Denki might believe. With all the wonderful abilities Tsu gains from the creatures of her Domain, some weaknesses apply. He should have remembered her sensitivity to extreme temperatures and insisted she stay back at Olympus, no matter how invaluable an asset she’s been.

He grimaces. “Maybe you should go back. Endeavor won’t hesitate to target you with his flames.”

She just blinks her large eyes at him. “What would going back home now accomplish? If he kills me, I’ll just end up there anyway. I’m going to see this through with you.”

He frowns. He’s been through ‘just dying and waking up at home’ enough times to know he doesn’t want anyone he cares about to go through it unnecessarily. He doesn’t want to  _ watch  _ anyone he cares about go through it.

Tsu sighs. “I’ll be careful, okay?” She taps him under the chin. “Cheer up, Shouto. We’re doing well!”

He echoes her sigh, and shakes himself. She’s right. He needs to be grateful for everything that has gone favorably so far, needs to keep his morale up.

It’s almost…  _ enjoyable,  _ watching Iida charge at targets other than him for once. With the lava cooled to rock form, the Witches and Gorgon Heads have nowhere safe to retreat to, and Iida easily overtakes them.

Even Aoyama manages to make himself moderately useful when they reach an enclosed area — he spins his spear reaching most of the enemies without even needing to step away from his position in the center of the room.

Shouto doesn’t ask for it, but Mezou, Tsu, and Ochako take up the area immediately around him, preventing anything from getting anywhere near him. In close quarters, he’s embarrassingly vulnerable.

Having friends actively protecting him is such a stark contrast to the thousands of hours he’d spent with everything and everyone around him trying to kill him — it’s  _ dizzying.  _ Can this really be his life, now?

“You good, Shouto?” Ochako says, over her shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says, faintly. “I’m okay.”

* * *

They reach Tartarus faster than he could have imagined — the House itself is  _ so close,  _ now. His body seems to be struggling to decide between the impulse to flee, knowing his father will be there waiting, and quivering in anticipation of reaching his goal.

Either way, he’s shaking as they approach the threshold. Will he have to kill Momo again? Will she resent him for making her face him one more time?

Torchlight flickers between the stonework pillars lining the walls, casting shifting shadows across the floor. It’s an unsettling effect; more so because it makes it even harder to make out where it’s safe to step. A misplaced foot in Tartarus often means spike through the leg or an arrow through the side from a hidden opening in a nearby statue.

At the moment, that seems to be the only worry. Momo is nowhere to be seen, along with her abrasive comrade.

“Iida,” Shouto says, carefully picking his way forward across the treacherous ground. “What are the chances they’re waiting for us at the far end of Tartarus, just outside the House itself? Like you were waiting at the border of Asphodel and Elysium?”

Iida hums thoughtfully. “Yuuga and I chose to face you there in order to maximize the opportunity for you to be weakened in prior combat. It’s certainly possible that Momo would employ the same line of reasoning.”

Shouto nods. It makes sense. But it won’t make a difference. Momo and Katsuki had managed to kill him their share of times, but now? With all of his allies here with him? They won’t stand a chance. He’d feel guilty, but it’s past time for someone  _ else _ to be on the less favorable side of an unfair fight.

“However,” Iida continues, and Shouto looks at him. “By now, your father will most likely have received word that you are on your way back to the House, and if that carried with it information about the forces you have brought with you…” He trails off.

“You think he might have called in reinforcements,” Shouto finishes the thought.

Iida nods. “The responsibilities of the Lord of the Underworld are far-reaching, as you know. Momo and Katsuki are just two of the Furies serving your father in the capacity of administering punishments to the damned. There are several others, or so I am told.”

Shouto sighs. Maybe it will be a fair fight after all.

* * *

A familiar-looking boulder looms large up ahead, and Shouto allows himself to smile.

“Bouldy, I’ve missed you!” he calls, picking up his pace. As much as he might dread the fight they are inevitably marching towards, the weight on his shoulders is a little lighter at the prospect of seeing Kirishima again and receiving a dose of his endless optimism.

He hears a few instances of ‘Bouldy?’ being muttered behind him.

Kirishima is perched on a step, chin resting in his hands.

“It’s good to see you,” Shouto starts, but his grin fades when Kirishima turns his face, revealing wide, strained eyes.

“Shouto,” Kirishima says, blinking. “So, that’s what that was about.”

“What’s what what was about?” Shouto frowns. In all the time they’ve known each other, Kirishima has never looked so serious.

Kirishima raises his eyebrows. “You must have really pissed him off this time.”

“Yeah?” That’s nothing new. Of course his father is angry that he’s disobeying him  _ again.  _ “What makes you say that?”

“Oh, just the twenty or so Furies that passed through here earlier heading towards the House,” Kirishima replies, faintly, absently fidgeting with the chain leading from his ankle to the boulder.

_ Twenty? _ He’d anticipated a handful more, in addition to Momo and Katsuki, but  _ twenty?  _ How could he have never come across any of them before? Why wouldn’t his father have used them to help prevent him from escaping? Arrogance, thinking that Shouto would never manage to defeat him?

“Did they hurt you?” Shouto asks, frowning.

“No.” Kirishima shakes his head. “But if you’re planning to get into the House, I’m worried about what you’ll be facing — though it looks like you won’t be alone, at least.”

Introductions are made, and Kirishima is looking a little more himself by the end of it, cheerful smile back on his face.

“I wish I could help, but I’m a little tied down at the moment.” Kirishima grins ruefully, nudging Bouldy with his foot.

Ochako taps a finger against her mouth, conspicuously eyeing the boulder. She smiles wide, a hint of viciousness in the glint of her teeth. “I may be able to do something about that for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Izuku is in the next chapter!
> 
> ~~It’s going to be 10 chapters!~~
> 
> ~~It’ll be around 14 or 15 chapters!~~
> 
> ... It’ll definitely be at least 18 chapters.


	15. Close Enough to Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative chapter title from my husband: Tape Elbows, Do The Tape Thing

Shouto still doesn’t understand how Ochako’s ability affects objects, exactly. She’d muttered something about retaining mass while compensating for gravitational influence, but it had gone over his head entirely.

Regardless of his level of understanding, the results are the same: Kirishima, grinning wildly, swinging Bouldy around by the chain and knocking out swaths of Wretched Thugs and Witches.

Ochako whoops with glee, clapping her hands together.

“This seems somewhat hazardous,” Iida says, gesturing at the careening boulder.

Ochako cackles. “For them, you mean!”

Aoyama narrowly dodges, and three Thugs are flattened against the wall, illustrating both of their points.

“It’s not a hazard if we stay back here and watch as all the enemies get taken out by our new, questionably sane friend,” Hitoshi says, leaning against a pillar.

“I’m not going to complain.” Denki joins him.

Shouto shrugs. They’re just joking around about lazing their way through encounters, but… “If this allows you to save your energy for the upcoming battle, that’s fine by me.”

“You two should learn how to use ranged weapons,” Yamada says, loosing another arrow and illustrating his point in the form of shattering a Brimstone across the room.

* * *

They must be getting close, now. It’s only a matter of time before they go through a doorway and come face to face with twenty or thirty formidable adversaries waiting to kill him. He has a feeling it might be the next one, even.

But it’s too quiet.

“Kyouka,” he whispers, motioning for her to come closer. “Can you tell if there’s anyone in the next room?”

She closes her eyes. A crease appears between her brows.

“It’s strange,” she says. “There are a bunch of them, but they’re totally silent and unmoving. Except two.”

“Waiting in ambush?”

She shakes her head. “No, even master assassins shift their weight from foot to foot while waiting silently, and I can pick up on that sort of thing.”

Shouto frowns. “Corpses, then?” That would be extremely unsettling — why wouldn’t the bodies have gone to the pool of blood? His father wouldn’t have enlisted the aid of actual _living mortals._ Right?

“No,” she says, smirking. “I’m not _that_ good. They’re breathing, and their hearts are beating -- that’s how I can detect their presence at all. But even that is slower and quieter than I’d have expected.”

“And the other two?” Momo and Katsuki, maybe?

“Breathing hard, hearts beating fast, like they’ve just been fighting or running.”

Shouto motions everyone in and nods to Kyouka, who updates them on the situation.

“We don’t know for sure that the immobile ones won’t attack us once we enter the room,” Shouto says. “We need to strategize under the assumption that they are all threats.”

Excessively detailed plans will only get derailed as soon as something unexpected happens, so their strategy should be more like a set of heuristics to follow. Mina, Yamada, and Aoyama will attack at range from the edges, as far from the melee as possible. Mezou, Hanta, Denki, and Hitoshi will fight together as a group. Kirishima and Iida will fight independently, as their attacks are a hazard to their allies. Ochako, Tsu, and Kyouka will move in and out to strike when opportunities present themselves.

He lays out his plan in hushed tones.

“Shouto, you need someone to stay by your side,” Ochako says quietly, frowning. “You’re potentially the most vulnerable of us all.”

“—I’ll do it—”

“—I’ll stay with him—”

“—I’ve got him—”

A chorus of almost a dozen voices speaks some variation of the same message. He glances at the doorway in alarm. They’d all kept their voices low, but speaking simultaneously like that had been louder than any of them had intended.

The doorway remains clear, and Shouto sighs. “Thanks everyone, but I’m not made of glass. I still have Recovery Girl’s gift of a second chance, too.”

Eventually, they concede that he only really needs a dedicated protection team if he is forced to use up that gift. Ochako and Tsu will fall back to protect him if necessary.

“Okay.” He exhales slowly, looking around at them all. “Ready?”

* * *

He almost trips over Momo’s still form as soon as he crosses the threshold.

“What—?” His whispered utterance is cut off as he takes in the sight of the rest of the room.

Two dozen combatants — _at least_ — armed to the teeth, and deeply asleep -- sprawled on the floor, leaning against pillars, slumped against the walls. One with… metal skin? One with _vines_ for hair. Ugh, Monoma, too.

And— His heart stops.

And Izuku, standing in the center of it all, eyes closed, chest heaving.

Shouto nearly jumps out of his skin as Aizawa appears next to him.

“Keep your voice down.” Aizawa’s voice is low in his ear. “This is a lot for him to maintain.”

Izuku did _all this?_

Izuku _is doing_ all this — actively keeping them asleep?

He’s vaguely aware of the rest of his group filing into the room. They’re all good enough at picking up context cues, thankfully, because no one speaks.

Aizawa stares over his shoulder for a moment, and then _moves._ Shouto hears Yamada murmur something, the rustling of fabric, hushed gasps from some of the others.

But he can’t tear his eyes away from Izuku.

So _close,_ he could just reach out, and— No, he can’t touch him, can’t distract him now.

Sweat beads on Izuku’s forehead, his brows drawn together in concentration.

Shouto mouths his name silently, chest squeezing painfully tight. He’s _right there._

He looks around at the sleeping forms of his would-be enemies. What should they do with them? Obviously he can’t expect Izuku to stand there indefinitely, exerting what’s obviously a great deal of effort. He’s struck by a sudden, selfish urge to deal with the whole lot of them quickly and ruthlessly, to do whatever it takes to free Izuku and have him all to himself— 

But no.

As much as he’s been through, he can’t bring himself to slit a sleeping enemy’s throat. Maybe if they can be immobilized— Shouto’s eyes widen. Of course.

“Hanta,” he whispers, turning his face towards him but keeping his eyes on Izuku. “How quickly can you secure them all to the pillars?”

“I’m assuming you want me to avoid waking them up until the last possible second?” Hanta’s hushed reply comes from close by. Out of the corner of his eye, Shouto catches him approaching.

Shouto nods. Hanta’s bindings are nearly impossible to escape, but this will have to be done carefully.

“I can handle it,” Hanta says. “Trust me, okay?”

Shouto glances at him. His eyes are focused, chin up. He’s confident.

Shouto nods. “Do it.”

It happens quickly. Hanta forms an intricate pattern of loops around each of the sleeping warriors, and returns to the center of the room. Then he pulls, and all of the loops tighten at once.

Two dozen sets of eyes fly open, and the room is filled with enraged shouting as all of them struggle in vain against their bindings.

Izuku collapses.

Shouto rushes to him.


	16. Green Eyes. Green Hair. Bright Smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay with this one. I needed to hammer out some concrete details for the conclusion before I could be confident that I wouldn’t need to change anything substantial in this chapter.

“Shouto,” Izuku gasps, reaching for him.

“Izuku,” he breathes, pulling him against his chest. “I’m sorry — I’m so _sorry._ ”

Izuku’s arms come around him, face pressed against Shouto’s neck, tremors running through his whole body.

“You came back,” Izuku murmurs. “I could hardly believe it when I heard.”

“I shouldn’t have left you,” Shouto whispers. “Are you okay?”

Izuku nods. “Yeah, just exhausted.”

Shouto closes his eyes and presses his forehead to Izuku’s. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“It wasn’t all me.” Izuku pulls back, nodding towards Aizawa. “I had some help.”

“I’m not just talking about what you did here.” Shouto brushes Izuku’s cheek with his thumb. “My mother told me you used your powers on Endeavor to allow her to escape. I guess you were too young to remember.”

“So you found her? How is she?” Izuku’s wide-eyed, hopeful face tugs at something in Shouto’s chest — he just _cares_ so much.

Shouto nods, and he can’t help but smile. “I did, thanks to you. You were right. I just needed a good night’s sleep.”

“I tried,” Izuku says, returning his smile through tears. It’s the most wonderful sight in the world. “Even while you were gone, I tried to make sure you could always sleep when you wanted to.”

Shouto stares. Izuku had been—? The level of precision and control, the sheer effort— he must be incredibly powerful, much more than Shouto had realized.

He needs to tell him how he feels, just in case—

“Shouto! _Shouto!”_

He growls and tears his eyes away from Izuku, looking towards the source of the interruption.

Oh. Momo has been calling his name. Repeatedly. In a rush, his mind catches up on the ongoing commotion from the rest of their prisoners. For a while, his world had shrunk down to just Izuku.

“I don’t want to leave your side,” Shouto says, softly, taking his hand loosely in his own.

Izuku shakes his head. “I don’t think I can even stand right now,” he says, stroking his thumb across the skin of Shouto’s knuckles. “Go talk to her. I’ll be right here.”

Shouto nods, reluctantly letting Izuku’s fingers slip from his. He stands and crosses the room to Momo.

“I swear, Shouto,” she says, eyes wide. “I was going to turn against them and help you. Katsuki, too.”

Shouto frowns. Katsuki had never seemed to hold any fondness for him. And it’s hard to believe Momo would start disobeying orders _now_ , but she’s never been one to lie and manipulate.

Shouto crouches down next to her. “Why would you start defying Endeavor now, after all this time?”

Momo sighs. “It’s clear he’s lost his grip on the Underworld. He’s an ineffectual leader.”

Shouto raises an eyebrow.

Momo continues. “When a ruler demands obedience entirely on the basis of fear and threats of violence, it all falls apart when someone demonstrates that they can be defeated.”

He gestures around the room. “Seems like he still has quite a few lackeys willing to obey his commands.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “He called for many more than this. Most wouldn’t come — they said that if he’s so weak that he needs their protection, he doesn’t deserve their loyalty.”

“And what do you think?” He narrows his eyes.

“I think—” She looks past him, eyes flicking around. “I think you’ve demonstrated that you’re capable of inspiring genuine loyalty. That you’re willing to cooperate with the Olympians, and they with you — your father hasn’t spoken to any of them in eons, did you know that?”

Shouto inclines his head.

She takes a breath. “I think tormenting souls to the point of their becoming mindless wraiths is pointless — counterproductive, even. And I’m tired of following orders under the threat of torture.”

She locks eyes with him. “I think you should take the throne.”

Ochako, beside him, barks a laugh. “I like her.”

Shouto smiles faintly. Momo has always had a penchant for cutting right to the heart of the matter. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

* * *

Shouto peers up the narrow, impossibly steep slope up to the House from Tartarus. It had never been designed to function as an entrance from this side.

“We could just leave, Shouto, go live somewhere on the surface.” Izuku, a little wobbly, but mostly recovered, shifts from foot to foot beside him. “You don’t have to face him again.”

Shouto turns and takes both of Izuku’s hands in his. “I can’t live in constant fear of him finding and hurting my loved ones.”

He trails his eyes up from their joined hands to meet Izuku’s gaze.

Izuku’s eyes go wide. “Your loved ones?” There’s a tremor in his voice. “O-Oh, you mean your mother.”

“My mother, my friends…” Shouto takes a shaky breath. “You.”

“Me?” Izuku says it almost inaudibly, practically just mouthing the word.

“I didn’t come back for the sake of confronting Endeavor again — I’m just doing that out of necessity.” Shouto glares up towards the House, before turning his much softer gaze back on Izuku. “I came back for you.”

A tear slides down Izuku’s cheek, and Shouto brings a hand up to Izuku’s cheek, wiping it away with the pad of his thumb. 

Izuku closes his eyes, turning his face in towards Shouto’s touch, and Shouto’s heart beats a little faster. “I mean, I had hoped—? With what you were— how you were acting with me, back there. But it’s really, really nice to hear it out loud.”

He brings his other hand up to Izuku’s jaw, tracing his skin lightly with his fingertips, and swallows. “Izuku—”

Some murmuring from some distance away catches his attention, followed by a loud _‘Shh!’_ He flicks his eyes to the side — Ochako is holding her hand over Denki’s mouth. The rest of them are pointedly trying to look anywhere other than at him and Izuku.

And then Izuku’s hand is at the back of his neck, and his breath catches. _Green eyes. Green hair. Bright smile._

“I love you too, Shouto,” Izuku says, simply. 

They’re so close, now, inches apart. He could die — legitimately _die,_ if it comes down to a fight with his father.

And there’s _no way_ he’s going to risk that happening before doing _this._

He pulls Izuku those last few inches in towards him — or maybe Izuku pulls him, or maybe both.

His eyes fall closed, Izuku’s lips meet his, and the sense of everything being right with the world is almost overwhelming. He can have this — _really_ have this, forever — if he can just succeed one more time.

He tilts his head, pressing closer, and Izuku’s fingers slide into his hair — even the _whooping_ from their audience won’t distract him from this.

Izuku pulls back, slightly, hand still at the back of Shouto’s neck. “Just one more victory, right?”

Shouto nods, breathing hard. But— he’s not ready yet, for this to possibly be the last of it. He lets his forehead rest against Izuku’s, for a moment, before leaning over to drop his face to the crook of Izuku’s neck and slide his arms around his waist.

“I love you, Izuku,” he whispers. “And I’m terrified I’m going to fail and lose everything.”

The motion of Izuku shaking his head jostles him slightly. “Shouto, I don’t think you _can_ fail,” Izuku says, voice quiet, fingers combing soothingly through Shouto’s hair. “I have a feeling you were born for this.”

Shouto squeezes his eyes shut. It would be nice if Izuku were right, but it’s not so easy to share his confidence.

“Just in case, though…” He lifts his head and turns to look at his friends again, bringing his hands to Izuku’s waist. “Tsu, can you come here?”

She nods, disentangling herself from Ochako and jogging over to them.

“Please, Tsu,” he says, looking into her large, attentive eyes. “If it looks like I’m losing, I need you to break away and help Izuku get to the surface, away from Endeavor — to Olympus.”

Tsu nods, reaching for Izuku. “Of course, Shouto. I’ll keep him safe.”

Izuku makes a noise of protest. “I don’t want to leave, Shouto.” His hands at Shouto’s shoulders tighten into fists. “We don’t _know_ that failing means you die forever… What if you end up trapped again, and I could help you, somehow?”

Shouto smiles, aiming for reassuring. “Then you can be the one to borrow All Might’s power and battle your way through Hell to come save me.”

Izuku chuckles and drops his gaze to the floor. “You make it sound so simple.”

Shouto sighs. “If you’re so confident that I’m fated to win, then it shouldn’t matter, right?” He pulls Izuku close again. “I’ll just go up there and defeat him one more time, and then give him the choice between relinquishing all of his powers to me or facing the same treatment as All For One.”

Izuku shudders. “You really think you can bring yourself to do that?”

Shouto twists his mouth. “I hope it doesn’t come down to that. But it’s only fair, right? Endeavor was a part of making that happen.”

Tsu clears her throat, expression grim. “All Might sometimes talks about being disturbed by what they had to do, even to this day. You don’t want that on your conscience, Shouto.”

He clenches his jaw. “Then let’s hope he’ll listen to reason.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wonderful art for this chapter was done by Steph! ([@s_holdthebus](https://twitter.com/s_holdthebus/status/1281594763578204163?s=21)) Please go let her know if you liked it!


	17. Fight Or Flight Reflex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d normally hold off for a couple more days to post this, to make sure I have the next couple of chapters sorted out... but it’s not often you get the chance to post on February 29, so.
> 
> If it’s a little unpolished (as if any of this can be called polished), that’s why, lol.

Tokoyami and Inko are waiting at the top. An impossibly steep slope isn’t so impossible with Tsu’s ability to climb almost anything and Ochako’s ability to make things weightless.

“Where’s Endeavor?” Shouto asks. First things first.

Instead of answering, Inko reaches up and pulls him and Izuku into a hug.

“I’m so glad you boys are alright,” she says, voice shaky with emotion.

“He’s waiting for you in the throne room,” Tokoyami says, quietly. “He says he has a proposition for you.”

Shouto glances around, uncertain. After all of that, everything they’ve had to go through to get here, _now_ his father is willing to talk?

“Okay,” he says, and it’s an effort to keep his voice steady. “Let’s go see what he has to say for himself.”

* * *

“Shouto,” his father booms from across the room, as soon as he comes into view. “I thought I told you you could never return.”

Shouto narrows his eyes. “It’s not like this is a surprise. You’ve been sending your minions up against me throughout my entire return trip — you obviously knew I was coming.”

His father stands suddenly, and it takes every ounce of Shouto’s will not to flinch away from him. He manages to stand strong — barely. His friends remain silent, at his back, as he had instructed.

“Never mind all that.” The thud of heavy feet on the marble floor echoes throughout the room as his father steps toward him.

Izuku’s steady hand at his back is the only thing allowing him to keep his composure. He resists the urge to step back. His father’s eyes flicker between them, and Shouto has the sudden urge to go after him right this second, just to get his eyes off Izuku.

“What is it you want?” His father’s teeth are bared in a sneer. The shadows cast across his face by his features jump around unsettlingly as the ever-present flames framing his jaw flicker and dance. “Why do you dare to face me again now?”

Shouto takes a breath, trying to get his heart rate under control. Izuku’s hand rubs at his lower back. _Focus on that, not on Father’s cheap intimidation tactics._

“I’ve come to demand that you step down as Lord of the Underworld.” He lifts his chin, squares his shoulders. He can’t let his friends see how weak he is, how cowardly he must be to be this terrified.

He doesn’t manage to suppress the flinch that results from his father’s sudden, cruel laugh. Izuku’s hand slides to his waist, whole arm providing support around his back.

“And what? You’ll take over for me? You wouldn’t last a day!” More horrible laughter.

“I’ve lasted this long,” he retorts, and his voice doesn’t break, thankfully. “What makes you so sure I would fall?”

His muscles twitch as his father levels a fiery glare at him — his body reacting to a hundred memories of pain and death. He forces himself to stand his ground.

“What happens when all your Olympian friends return to the surface and leave you here, alone?” 

_Not alone,_ he wants to say, but his father is continuing.

“You’re weak, Shouto. The Furies won’t respect your rule unless you can prove you’re strong in the only way that matters — when you’re on your own.”

He swallows. “I defeated you alone, once.”

His father throws his head back and laughs. It’s an awful sound. “Only with the stolen power of a half dozen gods of Olympus. You’d be hopeless, relying on just yourself.”

Shit. He shouldn’t have let this conversation get to this point. Everything his father says now will just undermine his future authority if he defeats him with anything other than purely his own strength.

“Tokoyami said you had a proposition for me,” he says, folding his arms. Concealing his trembling. “Get to the point.”

“Fine, boy. You never did manage to learn patience.” His father takes another step forward — almost in range of a spear thrust now — and it’s everything he can do not to give in to one of the conflicting urges to put more distance between them or to step in front of Izuku. 

“Relinquish your borrowed powers, and fight me in single combat. In exchange, regardless of the outcome, I will leave your friends untouched. If they try to help you… I make no such assurances.”

Single combat, without additional powers… that certainly puts him in the most dangerous possible position, but if it means everyone else will be safe… 

“I need to think about it,” Shouto says, and he can’t quite eliminate the waver in his voice. Fuck.

His father nods and turns to retake his position on the throne, waving dismissively. “You have one day to decide.”

One day, or else what? He can’t bring himself to give voice to the question.

The relief of finally being able to give in and step away is so great he almost collapses against Izuku the moment they’re out of sight of the throne room. He closes his eyes, counting out each breath, until his heart finally stops racing.

How is he supposed to be able to fight him if he can barely manage to _stand_ in his presence?

* * *

“No,” Izuku says, forcefully. “Don’t let him convince you that this is the way you have to do it, whatever he claims.” His hands close into fists and he frowns. “Endeavor’s weakness is his inability to inspire anyone to fight by his side. Challenging you to single combat is just a way for him to get out of having to face the consequences of his greatest failing.”

Shouto blinks at him. They’re gathered just outside his room. Everyone’s been waiting for him to speak, but the words just haven’t come. But Izuku can read him too well, evidently — he can tell he’s been thinking of accepting his father’s terms.

Izuku takes his hands. “If you take the throne, we’ll all be better off. Use every tool at your disposal to make it happen.”

“He’s right,” Momo says, from behind. “Endeavor knows you’ll likely prevail against him with allies supporting you, and he’s trying to play to your doubts to make you give up your advantage. The incentive he’s offering is weak — if you can force him to abdicate, he will be powerless to hurt anyone.”

“He can’t be trusted to keep his promises, anyway.” Iida says, stepping forward. “He has lied, tricked, threatened, and abused in order to gain allies in his struggle against you. There’s no reason to believe he would cease such behavior now.”

Shouto turns his head as Inko, at his side, inhales sharply. She catches his eye, frowning slightly — not angry… contemplative.

“We’ve come this far with you, Shouto,” Ochako says, squaring her shoulders. “Let’s see this through together.”

Tsu stands beside her, and gives a decisive nod of agreement.

Tokoyami clears his throat. “I will fight by your side, Shouto. No more contests or games — in open support of your claim to the throne.”

Even Katsuki gives a curt nod — Shouto had let him free after Kirishima had thrown in his lot with Momo and vouched for him. “Let’s kick his ass,” he says, harshly. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, anyway — with what the Furies will and won’t respect.”

Shouto raises an eyebrow. Sounds like resentment has been building for a while. He wouldn’t have predicted it would have gone this way, when he’d first met Katsuki, but evidently Kirishima had had the right idea.

Aizawa comes to stand beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. A familiar gesture. A centering one. Yamada is just to the other side of him, a constant presence now that they’ve been reunited.

“It’s because of you that we’re together again, kid,” Aizawa says, and Shouto turns to face him. “And we’ll fight with everything we have to keep it that way. Remember your training — you can do this.”

He takes a shaky breath in, and exhales slowly, nodding. “I’ll think about everything you’ve all said. We have a day before anything happens. Let’s all try to get some rest.”

Izuku squeezes his hand, and Shouto tries to flash him a determined smile.

Doubt spreads uncomfortably through his veins. Ochako is right — they’ve come this far with him — but is it really right to ask any more of them? He knows firsthand how brutally painful death at his father’s hands can be.

For the moment, the others have turned their attention amongst themselves, and Inko touches his elbow, nodding towards his room and stepping through the doorway.

He follows her in, Izuku at his heels.

His room is almost exactly as he’d left it, though the bed has clearly been slept in — Izuku flushes and glances away, and Shouto squeezes his hand. The thought of Izuku, heartbroken and despondent because of _him_ — it’s painful to dwell on. He swallows hard.

“There is one way you could trust his word,” Inko says, almost whispering. “A way to make his promises truly binding.”

Shouto nods for her to continue. Izuku’s grip on his hand tightens. He’s frowning.

“No, Mom,” he says. “Shouto doesn’t need to do this alone.”

“Oh, Izuku,” she says, the smile on her face contradicted by the sadness apparent in her eyes. “I just don’t want to see you hurt. All those years ago, I managed to talk Endeavor down from his rage over your putting him to sleep — a childish accident, I told him, and he accepted it, eventually. But if you go up against him directly now, I’m afraid that he may dredge up all of that old anger and more.”

Shouto’s stomach clenches. Images of Izuku suffering at his father’s hands flash to mind, and he squeezes his eyes shut, as if that could shut his mind’s eye as well.

“There’s no way he can win against all of us, though.” There’s a pleading note in Izuku’s voice, and he turns to face him. “Okay, Shouto?”

It’s nearly impossible to deny him anything, with those large, beseeching eyes boring into Shouto’s soul. Nearly. He pulls his gaze off Izuku and looks to Inko.

“How can I make his promises binding?”

Izuku is probably right; they would most likely win if they face him as a group. But can he be _absolutely certain?_

No.

Which means there’s a chance he could fail, and others would suffer because of him. Izuku would suffer. His mother might suffer, if Endeavor somehow manages to get to her on Olympus.

Inko closes her eyes and sighs. “We could summon the Fates. When All Might and the others put him in charge of the Underworld, Endeavor insisted that he have complete independence. The Fates are the reason that All Might can’t come down here and sort this out himself. It was a binding agreement.”

“The Fates,” he echoes, slowly. “And how do we summon them?”

Inko shrugs. “If you want them here, and they’re meant to come, they will.”

Hm. It sounds almost too simple.

Inko looks from him to Izuku, and glances at their linked hands, a soft smile on her face. “Just consider it, Shouto. I need to go get everyone else settled. Rest well, you two.”

His heartbeat is loud in his ears — he’s only vaguely aware of Inko’s footsteps and his friends’ voices becoming more muffled as they travel farther down the hall.

His eyes meet Izuku’s. It’s just the two of them, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~It’s going to be around 10 chapters~~
> 
> ~~It’ll maybe be 14 or 15 chapters, actually~~
> 
> ~~Make that at least 18 chapters~~
> 
> Okay, we’re looking at 21+ chapters.


	18. A Brief Reprieve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a paradigm shift for this and the next few chapters!
> 
> Also, please note the rating change from T to M. Things heat up a bit in this chapter, nothing explicit though. It’s really very vague. Like T-and-a-half, not really M. I prefer to leave the details to the imagination, and their relationship has never really been about that anyway.

Izuku finds himself enfolded in Shouto’s arms, and he needs to just… pick one emotion. Because this is just too many to deal with.

(Relief, first crashing over him when he’d opened his eyes and seen that Shouto had really come back, and now lingering, making him cling so tightly that he’d be self-conscious if it weren’t for the fact that Shouto is clinging just as tightly to him.)

His breathing is unsteady, he knows. It’s only a matter of time before the tears start.

(Anger, frustration, powerlessness. Everyone has already given excellent reasons for Shouto to reject Endeavor’s terms, but Izuku is all too familiar what it looks like when Shouto has come to a decision. Knows that he’s stubborn — so, _so_ stubborn, he could just _scream…_ but that’s what makes him a _force of nature,_ unstoppable once he’s set his mind to do something, no matter how impossible.)

He blinks back against the inevitable sting in his eyes and his fists tighten, gripping fabric. Shouto presses closer — he’s shaking. He’s _been_ shaking, ever since the confrontation with Endeavor.

(Fierce protectiveness, surging through his veins. Just like when he had ‘misplaced’ the Ledger of the Dead, he’d do pretty much anything now to get some portion of Endeavor’s rage away from Shouto and onto himself. Feeling Shouto flinch — imperceptibly, to the eye, but he’d felt it — when Endeavor had stepped closer, he’d had to stop himself from jumping out in front of Shouto and baring his teeth. That would have been pointless _and_ stupid, but he’s always been a little stupid where Shouto is involved.)

Shouto’s face drops against Izuku’s shoulder, lips grazing skin, and all the air escapes his lungs. If they could stay in this moment forever, never have to face the next day, if he could just… keep him here, safe. _Keep him, keep him, keep him…_

(Love. Overwhelming, all-consuming love. He’s loved Shouto as long as he can remember, though he’d never even _considered_ voicing it until Shouto had started trying to escape. And by then… it had seemed selfish, to say anything when Shouto was so close to succeeding. An unwanted distraction. But now, he’s _here —_ beautifully, _miraculously_ here — making Izuku’s heart race, filled to bursting with too much, too much, _too much—)_

“Izuku,” Shouto says, the slightest break in his voice — anyone else would have been unable to pick up on it, probably — and that’s all it takes to collapse the whole storm of emotions into just the one.

Izuku slides a hand to the back of Shouto’s neck and into his hair, and the effect is immediate — Shouto sags against him, tense muscles going slack. When Shouto had first started letting Izuku support him through the trauma of dying repeatedly, it was like Izuku was actually _useful,_ suddenly, doing something that _mattered,_ after a decade — two? _three?_ — of going through the motions in a haze.

“Are you going to try to talk me out of it?” Shouto mumbles against his neck.

Izuku shakes his head, smiling faintly. “I know better than to try to do that.”

Shouto exhales a long, slow breath, lifting his head and pressing his lips to Izuku’s temple. “It’s just— if doing this guarantees that my mother, you, all the others, will be safe, regardless of whether I win or lose…”

“I know,” he says, quietly, stroking a thumb down along the slope of Shouto’s shoulder.

“I mean— I know we would probably win, fighting as a team, but if there’s even a _chance—”_ Shouto’s voice sounds level, on the surface, but the signs of how rattled he’s feeling are clear, to Izuku. Little variations in intonation. Not quite enough breath to get through the entire thought. The tension in his jaw.

He brushes his fingertips along that jaw, smoothing out that tension, and nudges Shouto towards the bed. “I know,” he repeats.

“—I can’t take that risk.” Shouto’s body complies with Izuku’s direction, and he drops to a seated position at the edge of the bed, peering up at him. “I don’t know exactly what he would do, but it would be terrible, I’m sure—”

“Shouto.” Izuku presses in close, still standing, until Shouto’s forehead comes to rest against his chest and hands come up to encircle his waist. 

Izuku loops his arms loosely around Shouto’s head. As if this were enough to protect him from everything that’s coming.

Shouto takes a shuddering breath, but doesn’t speak again. He’s listening.

“I understand,” Izuku continues. “It’s terrifying, of course, but I know— I just want to be here for you.” No need to hash it out. Focus on maximizing his odds, now.

“Do you think the Fates will come?” Shouto asks, tilting his face up and meeting Izuku’s eyes.

Izuku nods. “I’m sure they will. There’s a momentous feeling about all this, you know? As if they were always going to get involved, no matter what.”

Shouto nods, his cheek rubbing against the front of Izuku’s robes.

“Do you want to sleep?” Izuku tilts his head. He’s not really asking to get an answer — he’d already know it — but it will at least bring Shouto’s exhaustion to the forefront of his awareness, and hopefully he will agree to sleep soon, even if he’s not quite ready yet.

Shouto shakes his head — as expected — but looks back up at Izuku, eyes soft. “Lie down with me?”

Izuku’s heart jumps into his throat. _Yes, please, that’s everything I’ve ever wanted._ “Of course,” he says. Calm. Stay calm.

Shouto leans back, catching Izuku’s hand and tugging gently. Izuku follows. Of course, he follows.

They crawl under the covers and face each other, limbs tangling together, all wrapped up in one another in this bed with way too many pillows — this bed, where Izuku has cried, alone, letting himself feel the full extent of what it meant to miss Shouto, believing he’d never see him again.

There’s something about simply pressing together and striving to occupy the smallest amount of space they can, collectively. With Shouto’s head tucked under Izuku’s chin, his hand running a slow pattern up and down Izuku’s side, Izuku’s fingers tracing through Shouto’s hair — there’s a _closeness,_ an intimacy, even without either of them having moved to push things further.

Shouto pulls back slightly, eyes locking onto his, so close, and everything feels hazy.

(Like a dream, but he’d know it if it were.)

Then Shouto’s hands are sliding along his jaw, cupping his face, fingers grazing his neck, tangling in his hair, like he can’t make up his mind where to put them. Shouto’s face tells a story of inner turmoil, brows drawn up and together, lips parted slightly, gaze darting around Izuku’s face — indecision, hesitation, _yearning._

Beautiful.

Izuku settles the matter for him by leaning in, and Shouto sighs against his mouth, relaxing under Izuku’s touch, _hopefully_ having lost the ability to overthink what his hands are doing.

Izuku is the overthinker. Shouto can safely rely on intuition.

Heat builds as Shouto angles himself _just so_ against Izuku, and they break apart, panting, breath mingling in the small space between them. 

Izuku lets a hand slip beneath cloth at Shouto’s shoulder. “Can I...?”

Shouto nods quickly, and hurries to help him remove the layers between them. Izuku’s heart hammers in his chest throughout the process.

He catches sight of Shouto’s face, mouth parted slightly, eyes half-lidded and locked onto his.

 _Incomprehensibly_ beautiful.

(Images flash through his mind, of the time Shouto had brought him the autograph he’d asked for and _dropped his clothing to the floor_ in the _middle of the hall —_ it had taken Izuku a full minute to start breathing again, and even longer to blink himself back to enough awareness to realize what Shouto had given him. And now— and _now—)_

And now it’s skin against skin, and Shouto is so _warm._ It’s _incredible,_ being with him like this, like— like this is the way they’ve always belonged together. Closer, _closer—_

He has to just— has to let this overflowing feeling in his heart flood into every touch, every sound— needs to make Shouto understand how much he _loves_ him, any way he possibly can—

(Hands, mouth, skin, _heat_ — Shouto’s voice murmured in his ear, muffled against his shoulder, gasping out into the space of the room, calling his _name_ — heart racing, breath stuttering, body arching, shuddering—)

Conscious awareness comes back bit by bit. Sweat cooling on skin. Sheets bunched in places where they’d been gripped in tight handfuls. The weight of Shouto’s arm slung across his chest. Residual pleasure tingling down his spine.

Shouto rests against him, and moments pass as his breath returns to normal. Izuku blinks slowly, tracing lazy circles against Shouto’s skin while his own heart rate gradually drops back to normal.

“You didn’t have to do that for me,” Shouto murmurs, his hand traveling the long path from Izuku’s jaw — down his neck, along his arm — coming to rest on his hip. “It would have been enough just to have you here with me tonight.”

Izuku laughs, softly. “That would have been enough for me, too, but I’m pretty happy with what happened anyway.”

Shouto huffs a small laugh. “Yeah. So am I.”

He can feel Shouto’s smile against his skin. It’s tempting to nudge under his chin, have him lift his face so Izuku can get a real look at a real smile from him, but he seems so comfortable… it would be a shame to disturb him.

Shouto pulls back and smiles brilliantly at him anyway, and his heart just about explodes. And then squeezes painfully. This _can’t_ be the last they get to have of each other. Shouto will win. He _will._

There will be _many_ more smiles they share. Infinitely many. An eternity of happiness.

“I love you,” Izuku whispers. _I can’t lose you again,_ he leaves unsaid.

Shouto sighs, tucking himself more snugly against Izuku’s side. “I love you, too.” It’s quiet, spoken against his skin.

They lie in comfortable silence for a while, until he feels Shouto shift slightly.

“Huh,” Shouto says, lifting his head, a slight frown on his face.

Izuku meets his puzzled gaze. “Huh, what?”

Shouto laughs softly. “I thought you would have been more excited to meet the Bull of Minos.”

Oh. He had, hadn’t he? Met the Bull of Minos. He hadn’t even noticed, really, having been wholly caught up with Shouto.

He smiles. “Guess I’m just a bigger fan of yours.”

He catches sight of a dopey grin — now _that’s_ not an expression he’d ever expected to see on him — before it’s hidden from view when Shouto buries his face against Izuku’s chest. Is he _blushing?_

“I’ll still need you to introduce us properly when all is said and done.” He keeps his tone light, but the way Shouto tightens his arms around him means he understood the unsaid message: he needs to _be alive_ when all is said and done in order for such an introduction to take place.

“I will,” Shouto says, softly. “Anything you want, Izuku.”

Shouto does want to sleep, now. It’s a gentle, albeit insistent tug at Izuku’s power. He combs his fingers through Shouto’s hair, listening in the stillness to the quiet, constant sound of Shouto’s breathing, until his chest is expanding and contracting with each deep, even breath. He’s pressed close enough that Izuku can feel his heartbeat, slow and steady. Can feel his consciousness falling deeply into sleep.

The sleeping mind is a sensitive, intricate thing. Sleep is for recovery, reorganization, restoration of the useful memories, so they’re salient, easily accessible upon waking — and desensitization of the traumatic or hurtful memories, helping the healing process. It’s impossible to micromanage such a process on a macroscopic scale, but for just one person… Izuku can’t _control_ it, exactly, but he can make nudges, here and there.

This kind of memory is important. That kind memory is unhelpful. No need for it to have it so closely linked to behavior activation. These memories are the ones that Shouto will need ready to aid him in the upcoming fight against Endeavor. Those are the ones causing him to seize up and second-guess himself with every move Endeavor makes. 

Izuku doesn’t exercise this ability regularly — it’s not so invasive as to be able to influence someone’s character or what’s most important to them, but still — the mind usually knows what’s best for itself.

This time, some assistance is warranted. Shouto needs every possible advantage he can get. It’s tricky — in all of Shouto’s fights with Endeavor, the memories are a tangled mess of those that are absolutely essential and those that verge on debilitating. It would take decades for the natural process to get it done entirely on its own.

Izuku cradles Shouto’s head against his chest, and does whatever he can for as long as he can, until his own eyelids are drooping. Falling asleep with Shouto curled up against his side is something he’s spent a long, long time imagining. He won’t pass up the opportunity now.

* * *

When he wakes, there is a little girl with long, silver hair and red eyes standing at the foot of the bed.


	19. The Fates

Sitting up and clutching the blankets to his chest, Izuku nudges Shouto’s leg with his foot. Waking someone up before they’re ready is _awful,_ but the unexpected presence of a child is an acceptable reason for a premature awakening.

“Mm?” A crease appears between Shouto’s brows, and his arm wraps tighter around Izuku’s middle.

The little girl is still standing there, hands at her sides, expression neutral. She could be mistaken for a statue if it weren’t for the occasional blink. She’s adorable, really, setting aside the unnerving nature of her sudden appearance.

“Wake up, love,” he whispers, bringing his hand across to cup Shouto’s sleep-softened face. “You have a visitor.”

His heart aches — for so long, it had seemed an impossible dream, being able to wake up together with Shouto, and now that it’s finally his reality, the threat of it being taken away is a suffocating weight on his chest.

Shouto inhales, stirring at last. “Huh? ‘Zuku?” he rasps, still groggy. He tilts his face up, eyelashes tickling at Izuku’s ribs as he blinks himself fully awake. “A visitor?”

He evidently catches sight of the little girl, because he sits up quickly, back stiff, eyes widening. “Who—?”

“Hello, Prince Shouto,” the girl says, quietly, and Shouto’s eyebrows lift a fraction higher.

Izuku lets his gaze linger on Shouto’s face, mapping out the lines of his expression. It must be a long time since he’s heard that title — he’d asked the members of the House to stop using it ages ago, and Endeavor would never show him enough respect to call him by it anyway.

“We’ll wait for you in the hall,” she continues. “Please don’t take too long.”

She turns and leaves.

Izuku frowns. _“We?”_ Who could she…?

He stiffens with realization. “The Fates.” Shouto whispers it along with him.

Shouto throws the blankets aside and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. The line of his back is rigid, and Izuku shifts closer, reaching out a tentative hand. It shouldn’t feel so intimidating, after last night, but the idea of Shouto potentially flinching away freezes him in place.

But then Shouto sighs shakily and the fear of rejection dissipates. Izuku slips his arms around him, and they rest there, chest to back, cheek to shoulder, until Shouto takes another deep breath.

“We’d better get dressed,” Shouto says, quietly. “She said not to take too long.”

Izuku tightens his arms around him. “Are you sure this is what you want?” Maybe there’s still a chance he’ll change his mind and let them all help him to finish this once and for all… 

But Shouto nods resolutely, and it’s obvious that he’s set in this course of action. Izuku squeezes his eyes shut, willing his stomach to settle. 

“I do wish that I could at least use my mother’s power when I fight him,” Shouto says, quietly. “It would be fitting, for her to be a part of this. And being able to harness the power of Winter could really help level the playing field, I think.”

It would. He hums his agreement.

Shouto gives Izuku’s arms around him one more squeeze, and lifts one of Izuku’s hands to his lips, interlacing their fingers. “We should get going,” he says, breath brushing over the back of Izuku’s hand.

“Okay,” he says. If Shouto is decided, he’ll support him however he can. “Let’s go.”

* * *

The little girl’s companions stand to either side of her: a tall, thin man with dark hair and strange, yellow eyes, and a… large rat? small bear? — a furry white creature of some kind, but with the spark of intelligence in its gaze.

“Eri,” the tall man says, looking down at the girl — that must be her name. “Could you let Lord Endeavor know that we are here, please?”

Shouto’s grip on Izuku’s hand tightens as Eri nods and starts down the hall.

“Wait!” Shouto calls, stepping towards her, but she doesn’t stop. His eyes shift towards the tall man. “You’re sending her alone? He could— It might be dangerous.”

The animal clears its throat, and Izuku stares as it folds its paws together in a very person-like gesture. “Don’t worry, Prince Shouto. There’s nothing Lord Endeavor could do to harm her,” it — he? — says, with a little bow. 

“Thank you for your concern,” the tall man says, smiling faintly. “Nedzu is right; Eri will be fine.”

He extends a hand to Shouto, who takes it cautiously. “It’s good to formally meet you, Prince Shouto,” he says, and Izuku narrows his eyes. Something strange… “I am Nighteye.”

The sclera of his eyes have gone black, the irises turning an eerie sort of purple. Izuku glances at Shouto — is Nighteye _doing_ something to him? He doesn’t seem to be affected in any way.

What _are_ the powers of the Fates, exactly? His mom had told him of their existence a long time ago, but the explanation for what they actually _do_ had been vague, at best. Make promises binding, apparently… but Shouto isn’t promising anything right now, so that seems unrelated to whatever Nighteye’s eyes are doing.

Whatever it was, he must have finished, because his eyes revert to their previous appearance and he releases Shouto’s hand.

“Lord Endeavor will be ready to talk by the time we reach the throne room,” Nighteye says. “Your friends will be there, too.”

An odd phrasing. Huh.

But Shouto is already moving, and there’s no time to dwell on it.

Shouto’s companions line the sides of the throne room like courtiers in attendance, though it’s clear none of them hold any love for Endeavor, given the looks they keep throwing towards the throne. They seem concerned, but not especially confused — his mom must have filled them in on what’s happening.

There are so _many_ of them. He hadn’t managed to properly register their presence the day before, but they make for an impressive collection of gods, demigods, Furies, and shades of heroes, all in support of Shouto’s cause. He really does belong on the throne.

And the Fates. They may be impartial in the enforcement of their contracts, but the fact that they’re here at all seems much more for Shouto’s benefit than Endeavor’s.

Eri steps away from where she’d been waiting beside the throne and rejoins Nedzu and Nighteye where they’ve stopped in the center of the room. She seems unharmed, unfazed by Endeavor’s menacing expression.

And Shouto himself — the shakiness he’d suffered from during his last encounter with Endeavor is nowhere to be seen. He’s calm, focused, steady.

Maybe Izuku had managed to help. He can hope.

“Prince Shouto.” Nedzu is the first to speak. “You’ve issued a challenge against Lord Endeavor for the Throne of the Underworld. Is this correct?”

“Yes.” Shouto nods and steps forward, his hand slipping out of Izuku’s. “I have.”

The loss of contact is jarring — everything suddenly moving too quickly. The temporary reprieve of the night before has been rudely yanked away, and the reality of the situation comes into uncomfortable clarity. A warm blanket being torn off the bed resulting in sudden, cold wakefulness.

“Lord Endeavor,” Nedzu continues, and Endeavor looks inordinately pleased that someone is using his title. “It is our understanding that you wish for Prince Shouto to forgo the aid of his allies during combat and relinquish the powers bestowed upon him by the Gods of Olympus. Is this correct?”

This causes some grumbling among Shouto’s friends, but not enough to interrupt the proceedings. Katsuki sounds particularly put out that someone is dictating who he can and can’t fight.

Izuku can’t pull his eyes away from Shouto to see Endeavor’s response, but it must be in the affirmative, because Nedzu moves on.

“What are you offering in exchange for Prince Shouto’s compliance with your demands?”

Endeavor scoffs. “My _demands?_ This is the way things should be done. One against one. Strength against strength.”

“You only think that because you’re a tyrant!” One of Shouto’s friends has stepped forward, her voice ringing out clear and confident. “You’re too small-minded to acknowledge anything other than _brute_ strength.”

She takes a breath, ready to continue, but Shouto minutely shakes his head and she falls silent.

Nedzu is silently staring up at Endeavor, somehow making it perfectly clear in his demeanor that he’s still awaiting a proper answer.

Endeavor’s jaw works as he looks between the woman who had spoken out, Shouto, and Nedzu. The presence of the Fates seems to be acting as a deterrent to Endeavor’s usual response to being spoken against.

“Fine,” he says, finally, through gritted teeth. “If my idiot son cooperates with those _terms,_ I vow that I will not seek to harm anyone here, not on this day, nor at any point in the future.”

Nedzu nods.

“And my mother.” Shouto’s voice is level, but a dangerous undercurrent runs beneath it. “Promise you’ll leave her alone. Don’t look for her. Don’t seek out communication with her. Don’t harm her in any way. Swear that you’ll have nothing to do with her whatsoever.”

Endeavor snarls an agreement and Izuku catches the way Shouto exhales, like a great weight has been lifted off of him.

Nedzu moves to step back. Izuku frowns. It just doesn’t seem at all fair for Shouto to have to fight powerless when he’d been given those abilities in good faith.

“W-Wait,” Izuku says, and Shouto turns to look at him. “He should at least be able to keep his mother’s power. Since he’s her descendant.”

“Izuku…” Shouto starts, softly.

Endeavor waves a hand. “I don’t care if he has that useless woman’s power; it won’t do him any good.”

Izuku stifles the urge to smirk.

Nedzu shrugs. It’s a strange sight on a rat-bear-person. “If you’re both agreed, you can retrieve your weapons and begin anytime.”

What? No. Not yet. It’s too soon. They _can’t_ be about to fight. He has the wild urge to rush to hide all the weapons.

“Shouto,” he says, weakly.

And then he’s there, and Izuku is pressed to his chest. Shouto’s arms wrap tightly around him, one hand at the back of his head. Izuku’s breaths are coming in uneven gasps — he can’t get enough _air_ — this isn’t— they _can’t—_

Shouto pulls back, hands at either side of Izuku’s neck, cupping his jaw. His eyes are closed, their foreheads pressed together. “You’ll be safe now, no matter what happens,” he whispers.

Izuku sobs, tears spilling down his cheeks. “What about _you,_ though?”

Shouto wipes the tears away with gentle hands, and tilts his face to press his lips to Izuku’s. He adjusts Izuku’s jaw to shift the angle so, _so_ tenderly, it might just break his heart before anything else even happens.

They separate — just enough to breathe — and Shouto pulls him into a hug again, his cheek pressed to Izuku’s temple. “You said it yourself,” he whispers. “I was born for this. I’ll be okay.”

Izuku chokes back another sob as Shouto takes his sword from one of his companions and turns to face Endeavor.

A warm presence at his side lays a comforting hand on his arm — oh, his mom. Izuku leans against her, still shaking. The rest of Shouto’s friends cluster around them, projecting support and empathy. For _him —_ they know how much Shouto cares, and that’s enough to make them care, too.

Silent tears slide down his face and fall in droplets off his chin. He’s breathing too fast.

Shouto had said he’d be alright. He seems confident now, as a chill spreads through the room, dampening Endeavor’s flames. This is what’s _supposed_ to happen, right? The Fates are here, standing together, now. Observing intently.

So why had that kiss felt like goodbye?


	20. Mercy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard to write. It might be hard to read, too.

Izuku flinches as a blow across the face sends Shouto sprawling. Endeavor staggers after him, raising his spear.

Move. _Get up!_ **_Move!_ **

Shouto rolls out of the way an instant before the spearpoint shatters the tile where his head had been. His eyes widen, no doubt envisioning the fractured chunks of stone as what they could have been if he had moved any slower.

He comes up with blood pouring down the side of his face, and Izuku’s stomach churns. Head wounds bleed a lot regardless of their severity, but it’s impossible to tell whether this one is just a cut over his brow or damage to his skull.

Izuku wraps his arms around himself. It’s been an ugly, brutal fight. Not hopeless, no — but Shouto and Endeavor have each gotten in a few successful attacks against the other. His chest hurts at the thought of how much pain Shouto must be in. Is he dizzy? Struggling to think clearly?

Blood is seeping through his robes at the ribs from a wound he’d sustained a little while ago. Has he lost enough to start making him feel weak? For his limbs to feel sluggish? Izuku clamps a hand over his mouth as a fresh wave of tears floods his eyes.

Endeavor has been wounded badly, as well, thankfully, with a wide gash in his thigh visibly affecting his ability to maneuver. That wound had probably saved Shouto’s life just now.

“Foolish boy, you know nothing of what it takes to do what I do!” With his eyes wide, pupils shrunk down to pinpoints, and lip curled in a perpetual snarl, Endeavor looks furious.

“I’ll figure it out.” Shouto — between moments of intense concentration — just looks sad.

Shouto’s foot bumps stone as Endeavor manages to push him back against the steps up to the throne, and he nearly stumbles. 

Izuku’s heart stops.

The image of Shouto falling back against the steps and Endeavor taking the opportunity to drive his spear through his chest is too clear, too vivid, too real.

But he doesn’t fall. He manages to maintain his footing, miraculously. Still, Izuku doesn’t release the breath he’s been holding until a well-timed sword thrust forces Endeavor to shift his good leg back to keep himself upright while dodging.

An expression flits across Shouto’s face — his eyes widen, just a fraction, before flicking down to Endeavor’s back leg and narrowing thoughtfully.

Izuku’s heart beats faster — his mouth feels dry, his breathing shallow. Shouto has a _plan._

“Useless!” Endeavor shouts, as Shouto turns and runs up the steps. “Get back here!”

The flames in Endeavor’s hands flare, and then sputter in the frigid air of the room. He roars in obvious frustration.

Izuku’s teeth are chattering, but the discomfort from the cold is entirely welcome. Endeavor places too much stock in projecting strength and power — he would never have admitted to feeling threatened by Shouto’s mother’s ability, so he’d had no choice but to allow Shouto to keep it once Izuku had made a specific, public demand for it.

“Do you want to know what All Might had to say about you while I was living in his home on Olympus?” Shouto calls from the top of the stairs.

“I don’t want to hear anything about that pompous fool!” Endeavor’s face is hidden from view as he starts up the steps, but the sneer is audible in his voice.

“Good,” Shouto replies, as facetious as Izuku has ever heard him. “Because he had nothing to say about you anyway. That’s how little you matter to him. To any of them.”

Shouto hasn’t been wasting his breath on meaningless taunts up until now — he must need Endeavor to be distracted from something, but what?

Izuku scans the area for the detail he’s missing, and his eyes lock onto a crystalline pattern creeping along the top of the steps from the edges towards the middle.

_Ice._

It’s obvious now, the intense focus in Shouto’s gaze, a complete contrast against the flippant tone of his voice. Sweat beads at his forehead despite the cold. It must require immense effort to concentrate his power in such a localized way.

Endeavor has nearly reached the top of the steps, and Shouto is forced to dodge back from a jab of his spear. No, not forced— he _wants_ Endeavor to meet him all the way at the top.

Shouto is maneuvering him into exactly the position he wants, guiding him into performing the exact same sequence of attacks that had resulted in the previous opportunity to force him back a step—

And then Endeavor is crashing down the steps, having slipped on the ice with all of his weight shifting onto his back foot, all of his momentum carrying him backward. He loses his hold on his spear as he slams down against the floor at the bottom — the floor full of jagged, broken tiles — and Shouto leaps after him, sword pointed down, both hands gripping the hilt, lifting it over his head as the full force of gravity carries him downward for a blow—

A blow that never lands.

Shouto stands over Endeavor, panting heavily, swordpoint pressed to his chest.

The sound of labored breathing is the only noise in the otherwise deathly silent room.

“I’ve had enough,” Shouto whispers. “Haven’t you?”

Endeavor’s breath rattles. He doesn’t move.

“I’m done,” Shouto says, louder, voice hoarse, eyes full of sadness. “I’m done with us trying to kill each other.”

Endeavor is silent.

He tosses the sword aside. “This is over. You’ve lost.”

And he steps away from Endeavor, towards Izuku.

There’s a shout of warning.

It’s not enough.

A metal swordpoint protrudes through Shouto’s chest, glistening red with blood, twisting viciously before retracting and clattering onto the floor.

“You really are an idiot,” Endeavor gasps out from behind Shouto. “Mercy is weakness.” He coughs wetly and drops down again, fist pressed into the broken stone of the floor. “It’s not a victory if you are too much of a coward to finish things properly.”

Izuku is frozen.

No. _No._ Shouto _won._ Endeavor had been on the ground, helpless—

Shouto’s hands shake as he presses them to his chest, his eyes widen when he pulls them away covered in blood.

“‘Zuku,” he says, brokenly, and falls to his knees, and something inside Izuku shatters into a million pieces.

There are hands tugging at his arm half-heartedly. “I’m sorry, Izuku,” someone next to him says, but the words are distant, faded. “I have to— I made a promise to Shouto, remember? To get you out of here if he— if he…”

He yanks his arm away — his body seems to know what to do, if nothing else, because he catches Shouto before he slumps over onto the floor.

Shouto’s hands are still shaking as he grabs one of Izuku’s. “Tell my mother—” He cuts off, coughing, and his eyes slide closed as his head lolls to the side.

“No, don’t—” Izuku hears himself say. “Don’t close your eyes, Shouto.” He cups a stabilizing hand under the back of Shouto’s head.

And Shouto — oh, _gods_ — he’s trying so hard — his eyes blink sluggishly open, flickering around uncontrolled before managing to lock onto Izuku’s — but his eyelids are heavy, so _heavy,_ they keep sliding halfway closed before Shouto forces them open over and over again. 

He wants to _sleep— no, no, nonono—_

Izuku cradles him to his chest, suppressing sobs to avoid jostling him, and it _hurts—_ the pain is visceral, it could claw itself up through his throat and manifest physically as an independent entity—

He glances around, desperate. Maybe someone can help, still? He doesn’t know all of the powers of the Olympians surrounding them.

Momo has a hand pressed over her mouth, tears standing in her eyes. Katsuki is being held back by Kirishima, shouting something about Endeavor being a coward unworthy of the throne. The shades wouldn’t be able to help, of course, no matter how much they’d want to.

Shouto’s friends from Olympus — it’s obvious in their ashen, tear-streaked faces, that there’s nothing they can do.

“Mom?” He looks at her, willing her to have a way to fix this, but she just shakes her head sadly.

The Fates. Where had they gone?

“I’m sorry,” Shouto says, barely audibly. “Izuku, I lo— love—” 

He coughs weakly, blood trickling out the corner of his mouth, and his fingertips brush against Izuku’s cheek so, so gently, before his hand falls, limp.

And then he’s just— still. Eerily, unnervingly still. No pool of blood appears for his body to sink into.

“Tokoyami!” Izuku hears the break in his own voice. “Is— Is he— Is his _soul—?”_

And then Tokoyami is there, kneeling beside him, all darkness and empty coldness, but it’s a comfort, in a sense. Maybe— maybe Shouto had been turned mortal when he’d left the Underworld against the will of Endeavor? That was one of the theories, right? Will he be a shade? They could still— could see each other, at least in some capacity—

But Tokoyami’s eyes are wide, baffled, and he shakes his head. “He’s not… I don’t understand.”

Izuku squeezes his eyes shut and clutches Shouto — Shouto’s _corpse —_ to his chest, tucking Shouto’s head under his chin. Sobs wrack his body — no reason to resist it, now, even if he could.

And then there’s _fury_ building in him, demanding to be let out, and his eyes fly open.

_Endeavor—_

He’ll spend eternity keeping him in a sleep filled with horrific nightmares — he’ll take his mind apart over and over again—

He frowns.

Endeavor is… locked in place? Not in ice, not dead. Just— unmoving? Midway through a gesture of some sort, mouth open as if to speak, even his eyes are rigidly set, staring at nothing.

His flames are gone. Something about his intimidating stature has become… mundane. He looks like— he’s just a _man._

And Nedzu is standing beside him. “He violated the agreement,” he says, voice light.

“What?” Izuku whispers.

“Lord Shouto was the challenger; Endeavor accepted,” Nedzu explains. “Therefore, the condition of victory was defined, within reason, by Lord Shouto’s understanding, not Endeavor’s.”

“You—” Izuku frowns, blinking. What does this even _mean?_ “Endeavor didn’t _know?”_

Nedzu grins a vicious grin. “He could have asked for more specificity, but he was impatient to begin, I suppose.”

But none of this matters in the slightest if Shouto is _dead._ Nedzu’s cheerful demeanor is enraging.

Something is tugging Shouto away from him, and Izuku stiffens, tightening his arms around him.

“Let me,” Eri says, quiet as ever, and her hands look so small wrapped around one of Shouto’s arms.

“Please,” he sobs. “Don’t take him away from me. I need— I need to—”

Eri lowers her eyes, brows drawn together. “Um,” she says, tilting her head. “You need to let Lord Shouto go, please.”

A hand at his shoulder. He looks up, still holding tight to Shouto. His mom’s red-rimmed eyes stare back at him.

“I don’t think she’s going to take him away, sweetheart,” she says, stroking her hand through his hair — a familiar gesture, something she’d done whenever he’d been upset throughout his childhood.

Nighteye kneels down beside Eri, placing a large hand over Izuku’s where he’s clutching Shouto’s shoulder. “Izuku, you’re going to give Lord Shouto to her,” he says, like he’s stating a fact, and his eyes are strange again.

His heart is pounding painfully hard as he lets his grip loosen. Eri sits cross-legged and takes Shouto’s head into her lap, her hands resting on his shoulders. Her hair hangs down on either side of his deathly pale, blood-streaked face, framing it in silver.

And then the blood that had trickled out of the corner of Shouto’s mouth… retreats? _Un-_ trickles back into his mouth?

Where the sword had stabbed fatally through him is too much of a mess to see in detail, but before long, Shouto’s chest is a smooth, unblemished expanse of skin, the wound gone even while his clothing remains torn and soaked in blood.

Izuku stops breathing and stares.

The blood that had flowed from the cut at his brow flows back up his face before the wound itself heals closed — no, not heals — the damage itself is reversed, undone.

Blood still stains his clothing all down the length of his side, but through the gap in the cloth where Endeavor’s spear had poked through, Izuku glimpses perfect, unmarred skin.

Eri’s face is one of intense concentration. It’s a strange look on a child, even knowing that she must actually be unfathomably ancient.

“That’s enough, Eri,” Nighteye says, softly, and she nods, taking her hands off of Shouto.

Then Shouto’s chest starts to rise and fall, and the rest of the world falls away.

Shouto — his beautiful, stubborn, _wonderful_ Shouto — is _asleep._


	21. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to work in a “it’s your power” in the climactic showdown with Endeavor last chapter but it just wasn’t happening.

“How about you go get some rest, Lady Rei?” a voice is asking, gentle and hushed. “I’ll stay with him.”

There’s nothing more important than opening his eyes and seeing the speaker, but his eyelids aren’t cooperating.

“Just Rei, please, dear.” Another voice, speaking just as softly. “I’ll be back soon, alright?”

A weight shifts against his leg, moving away from beside him. Footsteps moving away.

“And Izuku—” The footsteps pause. “Please, come get me if he awakens before I return.”

_I’m here. I’m listening._

His mouth won’t form the words, his breath won’t voice the sounds.

The footsteps start again, growing distant.

“Shouto…?” The first voice — _Izuku —_ the one that fills him with the need to wake up and declare that he’s alright, _please don’t cry—_

“It feels like—” A gentle touch to his brow, to his cheek. “Are you awake? You’re frowning…”

He wants to grit his teeth, sigh in frustration, clench his fists in the blankets— ah, that last one worked, after what felt like an eternity.

And then there’s warm skin, strong fingers instead of blankets, and soothing circles being rubbed into the back of his hand.

“You _are_ awake,” Izuku murmurs, and Shouto squeezes a confirmation. “I thought so, but these are unusual circumstances, so…” He trails off.

“I should get your mother,” Izuku says, and his hand starts to slip away.

No, no— _stay, please._

He succeeds in latching onto Izuku’s hand more tightly, and Izuku stops pulling away.

“Alright,” he says, soft, almost a whisper. “I won’t leave you.”

The blankets are pulled back for a moment, and a warm presence slots in beside him, arms coming around him.

“You’ll be okay,” Izuku says, and Shouto feels a kiss pressed against his temple as his consciousness starts to slip. “I’m here.” 

* * *

“Is it my fault, though?” Izuku is asking, and the pain in his voice is heartbreaking. “Because I didn’t let her get to him right away?”

Two hands are gripping one of his — unmistakably Izuku’s, even disregarding the direction his voice is coming from — and the soft skin of Izuku’s cheek is pillowed against his knuckles. A featherlight kiss from the corner of a mouth, the brush of eyelashes against the back of his hand, the warm wetness of tears — Izuku has his whole face resting against Shouto’s hand.

“No, my boy, it’s not your fault.” Another voice, the rumble of a mountain — All Might? Here? “The Fates work in mysterious ways. Shouto is a tenacious one; he just needs some time to recover after such an ordeal.”

Shouto forces his eyes open, just a sliver, wills his thumb to move gently against Izuku’s cheek.

“Not your fault,” he rasps, and Izuku lifts his head sharply. All Might _is_ here, somehow, with his giant hands dropped onto Izuku’s shoulders in a gesture of comfort.

Izuku’s eyes are puffy and his face is streaked with tears, but he’s smiling brilliantly now, relief emanating off of him in palpable waves.

It’s the most wonderful sight in the world.

They lock eyes for an instant, and Shouto makes an attempt at a reassuring smile before his eyes fall closed once again.

* * *

Izuku is fast asleep beside him the next time he wakes, an arm thrown across him, body half covering his — _protectively,_ almost. Or maybe not almost, judging by the faint traces of a fierce expression on Izuku’s sleeping face.

Shouto brings a hand up to smooth out the lines between Izuku’s brows, around his mouth.

“He really loves you,” a hushed voice says at his side. “I’m so glad you have someone like him at your side.”

It’s his mother, her long white hair gleaming in the torchlight. She reaches out a hand, brushes his hair back from his forehead.

“Mother,” Shouto whispers — Izuku doesn’t need his sleep interrupted. “I thought I heard your voice, earlier.”

She nods. “I came as soon as Inko sent word to Olympus. I’ve been here for a few weeks.”

 _Weeks?_ He’s been in and (mostly) out of consciousness for weeks? No wonder Izuku had seemed so distraught… and so exhausted, now.

“What happened to…?” he trails off — maybe mentioning his father directly isn’t the best course of action.

“It’s a bit complicated to explain,” she says, stroking his temple with the back of her hand. “But you don’t need to worry; it’s safe for me to be here, and you are safe here, as well.”

“Did I see All Might, or was that a hallucination?” He frowns, trying to summon the memory in more detail.

She nods. “I came down here with him. The agreement between the Olympians and your father was dissolved when— Well, we can get into that later, when you’ve recovered.”

He gives a slight nod, frowning, letting his eyes drift over to the mess of green curls at his shoulder. He’d fought his father, bits and pieces of those images are clear, at least. But the memory goes hazy as he tries to think through the timeline of events in more detail.

He must have won, right? If he’s alive, if his mother is safe here, if All Might is able to be here at all, there’s no way his father had retained his power over the Underworld.

“Try to get some more rest, my sweet boy,” his mother murmurs, standing and straightening out the folds of her dress. “It will take time for you to fully recuperate.”

She pushes aside the heavy curtain that serves as the threshold between his room and the rest of the House, and steps out, letting it fall closed behind her.

Izuku stirs slightly at the momentary brightness that had filtered through the gap, but settles as Shouto curls a gentle hand around the back of his head.

Shouto lets himself be lulled by the feeling of Izuku’s breath ghosting across his skin, Izuku’s weight along the side of his body, and the knowledge that nothing and no one will be trying to kill him when he wakes.

* * *

Soft skin and warm blankets. Gentle hands and encircling arms. Tangled legs, a beating heart, fingers running through his hair.

“Izuku,” he says, nuzzling closer, breathing him in.

They’d ended up on their sides while they’d slept, with Shouto’s nose pressing against Izuku’s neck, close enough to feel his pulse.

“You’re okay,” Izuku breathes, and his lips press a kiss to the top of Shouto’s head. “You’re _okay,”_ he repeats, tightening his arms around him.

“Yeah,” Shouto says, closing his eyes and letting Izuku pull him close. “I’m okay.”

* * *

He’s sitting up, propped against pillows, and he can _feel_ his strength returning to his limbs bit by bit, faster and faster by the hour. He’s dressed today — the beginnings of a return to normalcy — and alert enough to properly interact with visitors.

Ochako and Tsu are seated in chairs placed at his beside, their hands linked tightly together.

“You gave us quite the scare, you know,” Ochako says, lips pulled into a shaky smile.

Shouto shakes his head. “Sorry. I still don’t remember exactly what happened.”

Tsu and Ochako exchange a look before Tsu turns back to him. “That might be for the best, really.”

He laughs weakly. “That bad, huh?”

Ochako just nods, staring at her lap, pale and serious, with no sign of her smile from moments ago.

Tsu rubs Ochako’s back, and they both take deep breaths before exhaling slowly, almost synchronized.

Watching them, a heavy weight settles in his stomach. They’d seen him near death before, when they’d first found him trying to scale Olympus — granted, they hadn’t known him then, had no reason to be especially affected by him being in such a state, but still. Whatever had happened this time must have been much worse, and there’s really only one endpoint to that line of thinking.

He must have died, after having given up Recovery Girl’s power — really _died_ — and somehow he had come back from it. He frowns, feeling at his chest. There’s no healing wound, no scar, not even a bruise, but he has the vague sense that something wrong there had been righted.

Ochako shakes herself, and the smile is back. “We’re just really glad to see you’re alright, Shouto,” she says, reaching out to pat his hand. “Seems like you’ll be back on your feet any day now.”

Tsu nods. “Izuku has been taking good care of you. He’s a very pleasant person.”

Shouto can’t help but smile, looking down at his hands, the weight in his stomach dissolving into flutters.

“Aww, look at him, Tsu,” Ochako says, sweetly, and Shouto’s cheeks warm. “He’s smitten.”

“I think we knew that, ‘Chako,” Tsu says, and Shouto glances up to see her smiling. “That was the whole point of coming down here.”

Ochako sighs, a soft sound. “Ah, but it’s another thing to see it right before your eyes, isn’t it?”

“Where is he now?” he asks. Izuku has been at his side throughout almost all of his periods of wakefulness, which have been growing longer and more frequent as of late.

Tsu taps a finger to her chin. “He’s been taking care of the administration of the Underworld, in your absence. He’s probably in the former throne room now.”

 _Former_ throne room? Hm.

“Can you two help me up?” He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, the floor a foreign surface to his feet, and extends a hand to each of them. “I want to go see him.”

With their help getting him standing, he’s able to shuffle along the hallway independently. They stay close, hovering in case of a stumble.

The throne room is almost unrecognizable. The stairs are gone, the floor retiled in a new, brighter pattern, comfortable-looking furniture arranged at the edges. Vases of flowers decorate the corners of the room. And the throne itself is nowhere to be seen, having been replaced by a huge desk, behind which sits Izuku.

Head propped in one hand, fingers tangled in his hair, Izuku stares down at a large book on the desk, flipping pages back and forth. Momo stands to his left, leaning down and pointing at something on another part of the desk, and Tokoyami to his right, nodding in agreement with something too quiet for Shouto to catch from across the room.

The room is busy, filled with people. His other companions from Olympus are gathered in a group, talking with All Might, Inko, and his mother. He raises his eyebrows — some of the Furies they had encountered in Tartarus are now free and sitting calmly in chairs clustered around several low tables.

Aizawa and Yamada are conversing with a pink-haired woman he’s never seen before. Judging by the variety of tools she has strapped to a belt around her waist, she must be the one responsible for such an extensive renovation being completed in a matter of weeks.

A hush falls over the room and all heads turn in his direction.

“Shouto!” 

His name rings out in a chorus of voices from his Olympian companions, and he finds himself nearly bowled over as several of them rush towards him. Their overlapping chatter is too fast for him to follow as he’s lifted up and passed around in an overwhelming series of enthusiastic hugs from Mina, Mezou, Hanta, Denki — even Hitoshi and Kyouka have big smiles and open arms waiting when he’s handed to them.

A screech sounds from the direction of the desk, followed by a heavy thud — Izuku is on his feet, and Tokoyami is picking up the chair that had presumably been knocked over as a result.

Mina and Denki step back, opening a path for Izuku to reach him as he beelines towards him after rounding the desk.

Izuku’s eyes are glistening, but he’s laughing with joy. “You’re up! On your feet! Walking around!”

Shouto smiles and holds his arms open. “I wanted to see you,” he says, and Izuku walks into his embrace, arms coming around Shouto, returning the hug.

“You’re amazing, Shouto,” Izuku says close to his ear, smile in his voice.

Shouto laughs and scans the room again, taking in all the changes, the piles of paperwork on the desk evidencing how insanely productive Izuku has been _in addition_ to tending to Shouto during his recovery.

“Izuku,” he says, feeling lighter than he’s felt in a long, long time — maybe lighter than he’s _ever_ felt, _“you_ are amazing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve finished writing! One more chapter after this!


	22. Tabula Rasa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! Thanks for sticking with me through this thing. I deeply appreciate every comment, kudos, bookmark, like, reblog — even those of you who have just read and enjoyed it without interacting.

“Inko, it was my decision to face him alone,” Shouto says, laying a gentle hand on her head, and Izuku’s heart squeezes at the sight of his mom sobbing and clinging to Shouto. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Has she been agonizing over this, believing others blamed her for what had happened? Guilt stabs at him — he’s been too preoccupied to notice.

Shouto’s arms come around her, his brows drawn up together. _“I’m_ the one who should be apologizing to _you.”_

“What?” She hiccups, lifting her tear-streaked face and blinking up at him. “You are?”

“For a lot of things, actually,” Shouto says, more quietly, looking around at the group clustered around them.

The others back off, understanding this is something that doesn’t involve them. Ochako lingers somewhat closer than the rest, and Izuku doesn’t miss the small nod she gives Shouto when he briefly looks in her direction.

“Inko,” Shouto says, wiping away her tears and lowering himself onto his knees in front of her. Izuku presses a hand over his heart. “I’ve never properly acknowledged everything you’ve done for me.”

She’s shaking her head, and opens her mouth—

“No, please—” Shouto takes her hands in his. “Let me say this.”

Her face crumples, but she nods. 

“I lived most of my life without my mother.” Shouto turns his face toward Lady Rei, who nods for him to continue. “But I’ve never—”

Shouto swallows hard, blinks rapidly, takes a breath. Izuku’s eyes fill with tears.

“I’ve never been without _a_ mother,” Shouto says, thickly. “You were there for me all that time, taking care of me, and I left without even saying goodbye to you.”

His mom draws in a ragged breath, and Izuku is pretty sure his own breathing is just as shaky. 

“Oh, Shouto,” she says, voice wobbly, pulling one of her hands out of his grip to run it through his hair. “You don’t need to say anything, sweetheart.”

“I do,” he whispers, almost too quiet to hear. “I’m sorry, Inko. I love my mother, and I needed to do what I did to find her. But I love you, too, and I needed — _need_ to do a better job of showing it.”

His mom bursts into tears. Lady Rei, eyes shining, moves in and encircles her arms around the two of them. Shouto gets to his feet and pulls both of the mothers to his chest, keeping his face lowered between the tops of their heads.

After a while, the three of them move apart, somewhat calmer, but still a little shaky.

Izuku wipes at his face with both hands as his mom and Lady Rei murmur and worry over Shouto, their hands hovering over him. There’s something especially wonderful about seeing Shouto cared for the way he deserves — the way he always should have been.

“I’m fine, Mother,” Shouto is saying. “Inko, I promise, I’ll lie down the moment I start to feel fatigued.”

All Might stands to the side, observing the scene, a fond smile stretched across his broad face, his eyes a little red. It’s hard to believe that the King of the Gods himself is here in the Underworld, just a few feet away, getting emotional over their family situation.

“You can’t ask them to suppress their motherly instincts!” All Might laughs, dropping a hand onto Shouto’s shoulder. “But it’s good to see you’re recovering well, my boy. It will be nice to have a Lord of the Underworld who is willing to talk to those of us on Olympus.”

“About that.” Shouto tilts his face up, recovered from earlier. “What’s next? Does something need to happen first, or…? Mother told me that what happened to Endeavor is difficult to explain.”

Izuku grimaces. They’d been waiting for Shouto to recover and be able to give input before moving forward on that whole situation, but it will be easier to _show_ rather than tell Shouto what’s going on — is he well enough to be brought face to face with his father? He’d only just gotten out of bed _today…_ Keeping it from him feels wrong, though.

Lady Rei puts a hand on Shouto’s arm. “You don’t have to see him yet, dearest. It can wait until you’re fully recovered.”

“Is he dangerous?” Shouto asks, frowning slightly. “Have _you_ seen him?”

Lady Rei shakes her head, mirroring Shouto’s expression — their resemblance is uncanny in moments like these. “I’ve been assured he’s not dangerous, but I haven’t seen him — I wanted to wait to go with you.”

“Then let’s go — if you feel ready?” Shouto’s eyes flicker across Lady Rei’s face, but she shows no sign of hesitation that Izuku can discern. “If he doesn’t pose a threat, there’s no use in drawing things out longer than necessary.”

* * *

Shouto squeezes his mother’s hand on his arm reassuringly as they step through to the room where his father is being kept.

“Has someone come to tell me where I am and what I’m doing here?”

There’s a sharp intake of air at his side. He’s sure his own surprise is clearly registered on his face, as well.

This man _is_ his father, but everything about him — his clothing, stature, his face itself — exudes… ordinariness. His _eyes—_ _human_ eyes stare back at him. Perfectly mundane blue eyes.

And the question he’d asked…

“Where do you think you are, sir…?” Shouto steps forward hesitantly.

The man — it’s hard to even keep thinking of him as his father, given how the lack of anger on his face has transformed his appearance nearly to the point of his being unrecognizable, even setting aside the basic physical differences.

“I’m not sure,” he says, brows furrowed thoughtfully— _thoughtfully!_ “I don’t remember how I came to be here.”

Izuku steps close, touching Shouto’s elbow lightly. Shouto inclines his head as Izuku leans in to whisper something.

Izuku’s breath is warm against Shouto’s ear. “The Fates weren’t especially forthcoming, but my best guess is that he’s mortal, with no memory of his godhood.”

Shouto blinks at him. “What?” _Mortal?_

The man — his father — looks bored, having turned his attention to a tapestry on the wall, but Izuku keeps his voice low anyway. “We should talk about this in more detail eventually, but… he broke the rules in combat with you, and this appears to be the result.”

Broke the rules… 

Shouto shivers, feeling Izuku’s gaze on him, full of concern. That… won’t be a fun conversation, probably.

Izuku clears his throat. “We found you here, injured. You must have lost your memory for reasons related to your injuries.” 

All true, technically.

“Ah.” There’s a hazy, suggestible look in his eye, like he would have accepted any explanation they’d given him. “Well, thank you for taking care of me, then.”

 _Thank you?_ It’s almost unsettling, listening to basic courtesies come out of his father’s mouth.

His mother has a hand over her mouth, and through the point of contact with her hand on his arm he can feel her shaking. This must be hard for her, regardless of his father’s current state of harmlessness. They can leave and discuss their options elsewhere.

“It’s like he’s an entirely different person,” she says, as they head back to the former throne room. “Is this who he would have been if it weren’t for all the power and responsibility placed in his hands as God of the Dead?”

Shouto stops walking. Does that mean _he_ could become callous and power-obsessed under the stress of the same role? If he ever creates an heir, are they doomed to continue the same destructive cycle?

“Shouto?” Izuku turns, looking back at him. His mother stops as well, her brows drawn up in concern.

“Could I—? Will _I—?”_ He closes his mouth, huffing a breath out through his nose. If he voices such a thought, does that mean he considers himself capable of cruelty?

He tries again. “Was there ever a time he wasn’t… the way he was, I wonder? Before All For One — before he became God of the Dead, I mean.”

Izuku sees right through his attempt at obliqueness, and Shouto is forced to glance away from the ferocity of his gaze.

“You’re _not him,_ Shouto.” Izuku closes the distance between them and his hands grip Shouto’s arms firmly. “You could never be like him.”

His mother speaks up, softly. “That’s not at all what I was suggesting, Shouto.” He meets her eyes, and finds nothing but gentleness there.

He shifts his eyes between them, searching. “How can you be so sure?”

Izuku sighs, and slides his hands down until his palms are pressed against Shouto’s. “The experiences you’ve been through would have left most others completely desensitized to death and violence, with no regard for the value of life.”

Shouto exhales slowly, leaning his forehead against Izuku’s and closing his eyes. Some of the tension drains out of him, and exhaustion begins to seep in to replace it.

Izuku’s voice is close, soft, sweet. “You’re an incredibly kind person. And you will _never_ turn into your father.”

Shouto swallows down the painful lump in his throat.

“He looks tired, Izuku,” his mother says. “Take him to rest, will you? I’ll tell Tokoyami and Momo you’re taking a break, too — I know you’ve been running yourself ragged, and they can handle things without you for a while.”

Izuku makes a barely audible _snerk_ sound, and Shouto opens his eyes to glimpse a wry smile on his face.

Heh. 

There’s something quintessentially motherly about worrying about him to the point of dictating his need for rest to the God of Sleep himself.

“Yes, Lady Rei.” Somehow, Izuku manages to keep his voice neutral while amusement still dances in his eyes. “I’ll make sure he gets some sleep.”

* * *

The curtain falls into place behind them and Izuku hangs back, teeth worrying at his lip as Shouto undresses and collapses onto his bed.

When it had been their last (and potentially only) night together before Shouto’s duel with Endeavor it had gone without saying that they would stay together through the night. And while Shouto had been recovering from his brush with true death and needed someone constantly watching over him, it had only made sense for Izuku to remain with him.

Hesitance grips him now, however. Shouto clearly still has some lingering fatigue to work through, but he’s mostly back to normal; constant vigilance is no longer necessary. By some miracle, he reciprocates Izuku’s feelings, but it may not be fair to assume he wants to share his bed with Izuku by default.

And then Shouto sits up and reaches out towards him. “Stay with me?”

Izuku melts. “Of course,” he breathes. “As long as you’ll have me.”

Shouto chuckles low, a sound that sends tingles down Izuku’s spine. “Be careful of the promises you make, my love—” 

_(How_ can two simple words send Izuku’s poor heart into arrhythmia?)

“—What’s to stop me from keeping you here forever, if you say things like that?”

He wouldn’t complain.

But reality, like a personified voice sitting on his shoulder, reminds him of the colossal mountain of work they’ll have to scale if they’re going to reinvent the entire afterlife, and he sighs.

Izuku approaches the edge of the bed and lets Shouto attend to his clothing, fingers deftly unfastening.

“As much as I wish we _could_ stay here forever, at some point I need to catch you up on everything that I’ve been working on with Tokoyami and Momo. And there are also the projects Aizawa and Yamada are developing with Mei, and—”

Shouto’s thumb touches his lips, hand cupping his jaw, and he falls silent. “I know,” Shouto murmurs. “Tomorrow we can go through it all, okay?”

Izuku nods, and climbs into bed. Shouto’s arm slips around his waist, and he relaxes back against him.

“What do you think you’ll do about your father?”

“Mm.” Shouto’s lips press lightly to his shoulder before he shifts to tuck his chin over the same spot. “It’s bizarre, seeing him like that.”

“Yeah.” It’s hard to come up with an intelligent response with Shouto’s breath warming his skin.

“I think I should let my mother decide his fate.” Shouto nuzzles against the crook of his neck, and Izuku’s heart thuds irregularly against his ribs. “If she wants to, anyway. It seems fair.”

”Yeah,” Izuku whispers again, and they fall silent.

“Thank you,” Shouto says, voice soft. “For reassuring me, earlier.”

Izuku shakes his head minutely. “It’s just the truth.”

Moments pass quietly, but Shouto’s not sleeping, nor trying to. All the points of contact between them have Izuku’s nerves oversensitized — Shouto’s solid arm around him, breath ghosting down the back of his neck, knee slipped between his thighs… 

Time hangs still.

And then Shouto’s fingertips curl just slightly, sliding a fraction closer to his hip, and Izuku bites his lip, eyes rolling up into the back of his head. Echoes of that night all those weeks ago resound through his body at the sensation of Shouto’s nails tracing lines across his abdomen, and his mouth falls open.

 _“Ahh—”_ He arches back against Shouto’s chest, and Shouto’s hand comes to his jaw, guiding his face around, and Izuku gasps against his mouth.

 _Fuck._ Izuku twists himself the rest of the way around, groaning as their bodies slide together.

He tilts his head back and threads his fingers through Shouto’s hair as Shouto presses a trail of hot kisses along his exposed throat, breathing hard. 

He’s supposed to make sure Shouto rests.

“Need you,” Shouto murmurs against his skin, and _oh, gods—_

Izuku takes a shuddering breath. “I’m here. Always.”

He’ll just have to make sure Shouto sleeps especially _well._

* * *

“You look well-rested,” Momo says, lifting an eyebrow.

Shouto lets the corners of his mouth tick up in response, and his eyes wander across the room to where Izuku is deep in conversation with the woman with all the tools — Mei, he’d called her. Izuku seems to sense the attention, because he glances up, meeting his gaze with a soft smile and a little wave.

Warmth spreads through his chest as he lifts his hand to wave back.

Momo clears her throat.

“Sorry,” he says, quickly. “Tell me your ideas for Asphodel. I’m listening.”

He nods along as she describes her proposal, interrupting only occasionally for clarification. Her goals are large in scope and will take an immense amount of time and effort to accomplish, but Momo knows what she’s talking about. 

Revitalizing Asphodel permanently will take a mastery of his mother’s power beyond what he’s capable of, and will therefore require her cooperation. But if they can get that done, they’ll have a space to attempt to rehabilitate the souls currently suffering in Tartarus and Asphodel (in its present state) as well as a home for any shades of Elysium who may have grown tired of the constant battle trials.

Some may be beyond saving, either due to the degree of humanity they’ve already lost or if any of them are truly inherently evil beings. But there’s no harm in trying, assuming the rest of the Furies will cooperate.

He’d been surprised to see them wandering the House freely, but apparently the ones that had answered his father’s call had done so out of a sense of loyalty to the throne itself, not out of obligation to him as an individual. The throne is Shouto’s now, even if not quite as literally, and hence their loyalties lie with him now as well.

The Furies that had refused to come when called had been fed up with his father’s methods already, so attempting to establish a connection with them is not entirely hopeless. It’s just a matter of reaching out, finding common ground.

Tokoyami and Izuku will coordinate to streamline the process by which they accept souls into the Underworld and assess their needs. Tartarus will be renovated almost in its entirety to help serve this purpose. No more spikes on the ground or arrows shooting out of holes in the walls. If the afterlife is designed to help souls thrive, the necessity for measures preventing their escape is substantially reduced.

He rubs at his temples, willing away the headache that’s starting to take root. There’s still a lot more to go over, such as Aizawa and Yamada’s ideas for providing shades with fulfilling work that could benefit the House. In theory, it will require substantial effort to set up such a program, but in the long run it should ease the load on the existing members of the House. He’ll need to follow up with them about the project, but Iida and Aoyama are willing to assist as well, according to the summary he’d read from Aizawa.

He scans the room and finds his mother sitting with Inko. Catching her eye, he waves her over to the desk.

“I hope you’re not overdoing it, Shouto,” she says. “Make sure you take a break soon.”

“I will.” Shouto taps his fingers against Momo’s drawings of Asphodel. “I’ve heard All Might will be returning to Olympus in a few days. Do you need to go with him, or…?”

She reaches over and pushes his hair out of his face. “I was hoping to stay a little longer, if that’s alright.”

“Of course.” He’d spent years trying to get to her; the idea of her returning to Olympus immediately and only rarely being able to see her… “You’ll always be welcome here.”

“I do need to go back, eventually, to oversee the onset of Spring.” She pulls up a chair and sits down, facing him. “I’ve been neglecting my duties for a long time, letting the seasons pass automatically — mortal civilization would benefit from an era of abundance.”

“Ah.” He presses his lips together. Of course she’d be needed on the surface… it would be selfish to try to keep her here in the Underworld just for his own sake.

And he’ll have to tell Momo that they’ll need to approach the problem of Asphodel some other way.

Her thumb strokes the side of his face, and he forces his expression back to neutral.

“My dear Shouto,” she says, gently, and he takes a shaky breath. “I can come back again at the beginning of Autumn and stay through to the end of Winter — every year, if that’s what you want.”

Oh. “Every year?”

She nods. “If you want me here.”

“Okay,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Momo has a project that could benefit substantially from your help, if you’re willing.”

* * *

They organize a farewell celebration for the group returning to Olympus with All Might. It’s a bittersweet send-off, since Izuku has come to know and like all of Shouto’s surface friends in the weeks since they arrived in the Underworld. But their departure symbolizes a sort of closure to the entire ordeal Shouto has been through, and in that sense it brings some happiness as well.

“I promised you an introduction.” 

Shouto’s voice in his ear and hand at the small of his back sends a jolt of heat spreading down his spine.

“You did.” He smiles, leaning into the touch.

In the scope of everything that’s happened, a meeting with Iida Tenya, the famous Bull of Minos, seems much less significant than it would have a few years ago. Not that he’ll turn it down. 

With gentle pressure at his back, Shouto leads him over to where Iida is talking with Aoyama.

“Ah, Shouto,” Iida says, turning, and Izuku gasps quietly — he has to crane his neck to meet Iida’s eyes from this close up. “Your friend here has been avoiding me.”

Shouto looks at him askance, and warmth floods Izuku’s cheeks.

“Hahhh,” Izuku says, rubbing at the back of his neck and smiling nervously up at Iida. “It’s just— It’s silly, sorry. Before he was supposed to fight Endeavor, Shouto promised me he would introduce me to you, because I was— _am_ a fan of yours, and, well— Up until recently he wasn’t recovered enough to be making introductions, and I— I just wanted to give him a chance to fulfill his promise, before, um— I didn’t want to introduce _myself_ when he’d already said he would, and it was kind of this significant thing at the time, like it meant he’d live to be able to—”

“Izuku,” Shouto says, laughing softly, and Izuku closes his mouth with an audible _click._

“This is the _colleague_ who wanted my autograph, is that right?” Iida directs a grin down at him, wide and toothy.

Shouto’s cheeks take on a pink tinge and he nods. “Izuku, meet Iida Tenya, the Bull of Minos, and Aoyama Yuuga, the greatest king of Athens.”

“It’s good to meet you officially, Izuku.” Iida claps a hand on his shoulder and gives a friendly — if somewhat painful — squeeze, while Aoyama bows with a flourish.

“You too,” he says, faintly.

“I should inform you both that Yuuga and I will be returning to Elysium tomorrow,” Iida says, and beside him, Aoyama nods.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Shouto,” Aoyama says, somewhat stiffly. “And for giving me the opportunity to make up for my past behavior.”

Shouto makes a quiet noise of surprise. “Aizawa said you’d be collaborating with him and Yamada. You’re welcome to do so from the comfort of the House.”

Aoyama shakes his head. “We’ll be in touch as is necessary, but as Elysium’s Greatest Champion, my place is there.”

They move on, saying their goodbyes with Shouto’s friends. Mina and Denki smile wide and wave cheerfully, promising to visit occasionally. Hanta and Mezou pull Shouto into a tight hug, and Izuku finds himself smiling as he’s yanked into it as well.

Hitoshi and Kyouka are less outwardly friendly, but there’s warmth in their slight smiles.

“Are you sure you’re willing to be involved in my mother’s plans for… Enji?” Shouto asks, quietly.

Todoroki Enji. The new name given to the former God of the Dead. It’s not as if they could keep calling him Endeavor, and they had to call him _something._

“If she thinks he deserves this chance, who am I to disagree?” Kyouka shrugs. “We’ll keep a close eye on the village, watch that his violent tendencies aren’t resurfacing.”

“It will take some doing to get the villagers to accept him as one of them, but I can do it.” Hitoshi sighs, leaning lethargically against the pillar behind him. “Really though, I don’t mind helping.”

Hitoshi’s normally half-lidded eyes widen in surprise as Shouto opens his arms, but he steps close to accept the embrace.

“Thank you for everything,” Shouto says, quietly. “And you, Kyouka.”

He releases Hitoshi and moves over to Kyouka, who has to go up on tiptoe to allow her face to clear Shouto’s shoulder.

“Take care of this one, Shouto,” she says, nodding at Izuku. “You’ve put him through a lot.”

His eyes burn and his smile turns wobbly. Kyouka had been an unexpected source of comfort during times when he’d been losing hope that Shouto would ever wake up. She’d listened to him calmly, quietly empathizing with his worries and fears while still managing to stay rational and reasonable about the situation.

Shouto steps back, slipping his hand into Izuku’s and interlacing their fingers. “I know, and I will.”

Izuku strokes his thumb across the back of Shouto’s. Ochako and Tsu will be the hardest goodbye for Shouto, probably. They had been his first friends on Olympus, helped him find his mother, and had saved his life on several occasions.

Shouto exhales a shaky breath and crosses the room to where the two of them are seated, eating with Lady Rei.

He clears his throat, shoulders stiff. “Ochako, Tsu, I don’t know how I can ever thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me — for us.”

Ochako laughs lightly. “Oh, Shouto. What is it with you and needing to quantify your thanks and repay people for good deeds?”

He sighs, his lips curving into a small, wry smile. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“How about you let the two of us stay for a few more weeks and we’ll call it even?” Ochako smiles brightly, tilting her face up.

“What? You— of course you can stay!” Shouto’s grip on Izuku’s hand slackens slightly as he relaxes. “I thought you were going back with the others.”

Tsu chimes in. “I don’t need to be back until things start to thaw and my creatures come out of hibernation. As long as we return with Lady Rei, it’s fine.”

“It will be nice to have company on my return trip,” Lady Rei adds.

“All Might already approved our extended absence from Olympus.” Ochako leans over, giving a little wave — All Might is looking their way, having overheard mention of himself, maybe.

Izuku watches Shouto’s face, and the minute expressions flickering across it. There are no scars to see, even after everything he’s been through. Every time Shouto had died in his attempts to escape the Underworld, he’d come back to the pool of blood, good as new. When he’d arrived at Olympus, he’d been nursed back to health by Recovery Girl herself, who would have brought him back to the point of physical perfection. And Eri’s power had undone the wounds that would have left horrific marks after the fight with Endeavor.

But all that death and violence, especially at the hands of someone who was _supposed_ to love and care for him, had inevitably left invisible scars. And his mother’s abandonment of him — understandable or not, remembered or not, forgiven or not — would have left even deeper, older scars. So even though Shouto hasn’t said so, the prospect of having to watch so many people leave him — people whom he’d grown to care deeply about — has to have been weighing heavily on him.

That these two goddesses are staying even just a little longer… Izuku shoots a grateful smile over to Tsu before shifting his gaze to Ochako and giving her a small nod of appreciation. Shouto deserves everything that anyone can do to make this easier for him, and they seem to have recognized that.

“We’ll be glad to have you both here as long as you like.” Pulling Izuku close to his side, Shouto smiles a warm, unguarded, _beautiful_ smile, and Izuku presses a hand to his chest at the sight.

Maybe now that all the horror is over, now that they’ve begun to rebuild the Underworld into something meant for healing instead of punishment, Shouto’s scars have started to heal, too. Maybe he’ll finally be allowed to become a version of himself only ever rarely glimpsed before.

Izuku mirrors Shouto’s smile. He’s loved Shouto forever, scars and all. He’ll love this Shouto, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate chapter title: A New Endeavor
> 
> Crack spinoff ideas:  
> \- Good Place AU for redesigning the afterlife  
> \- Shades keep escaping the Underworld while Shouto & co. work out the kinks of the new system. Mirio, Tamaki, and Hadou are “ghost hunters”  
> \- Mirio as a Hercules figure  
> \- Mei’s crazy Daedalus-esque experiments

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is [@damaless](http://damaless.tumblr.com) and twitter is [@fandamaless](http://twitter.com/fandamaless), come interact if you like!
> 
> Update: I will be posting an Izuku POV companion fic for Instead Of Getting Hit, Don’t during Tododeku week in July! You can user subscribe to me on Ao3 if you want to be sure not to miss it.


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